Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aiden wouldn't necessarily say that he's feeling bitter, staring down the notice board in whatever coastal Redanian town he's stumbled into. 

Half hidden by a posting announcing some upcoming festival he spies a contract for a small group of drowners on the banks of the nearby river. The advertised reward is good, surprisingly. Higher than average but not so high as to be suspicious. A little odd, maybe, but some areas have developed more tolerant views of witchers over the last decade or so and the last town he'd been in with Lambert had been more welcoming than usual. Maybe that's just how this area is? He and Lambert don't usually go this way when they're together on the Path. They're only in this area because it's close to where Lambert planned to meet Geralt. And, come to think of it, Aiden doesn't recall being sneered at by any of the travelers they saw on the road leading into this area. So it's probably not a trap. Probably. He's 62% sure. 

He still doubts he'll get all of it either way, but it does raise his hopes of not being run out of town immediately. It's doubtful the town despises witchers if they're not already trying to short him before he even starts. Unless they hate witchers so much that an actually reasonable price for his services seems so ludicrously high they think it's something he would jump at and it is a trap. There's always someone in the market for a dead witcher, or, in some cases, a pet witcher.

It's probably not a trap. He subtly double checks that his lock picks and his back-up lock picks are in place anyways.

Aiden yanks the contract from the board. A good chunk of the top tears off, still stuck to the board on the pin he hadn't bothered removing.

He sighs. He needs to get a hold of himself. No amount of bard-generated goodwill toward witchers will help him if the townspeople get it into their heads that he's aggressive. Lambert might be able to get away with being a rude little shit to everyone he meets without obliterating any hope he might have of being accepted at the local inn, but Lambert isn't a Cat.^[1] Even with those songs that have been gaining traction, there's only so much kindness and trust he can expect to receive with a Cat medallion. And that amount tends to rapidly dwindle to zero if he doesn't smile and act politely.

Aiden tips his head back and takes a breath to center himself. He stares up at the sky and prays for patience.

The sky is already starting to grow dark. He could go see the alderman now and take care of the problem tonight. In the dark. With no rest after walking through the forest for all of yesterday and today. Or he could see if there's a room at the inn for him first and do that in the morning. 

He's not so short on coin he won't be able to afford a night on a bed and a meal. But he should probably save as much as he can to put toward repairing his and Lamberts gear. But he doesn't want to sleep on the ground or up a tree tonight. But it's expensive to repair or replace gear as two witchers. But Lambert left him to go see someone they've both wanted to meet and didn't invite him along.

He starts walking in what he judges is most likely the direction of the inn, making sure his posture says relaxed and calm and confident and resembles nothing of the sulk he wants to slouch into.

Alright, he won't deny being a little upset. Not when he's here alone . Not when as recently as yesterday morning he was waking up curled around Lambert, clinging to his side even as the late spring warmth made it too hot to be truly necessary or even comfortable with how hot they tend to run.^[2] Not when he's got nothing but lonely nights to look forward to for the next week at least .

And it's not that he doesn't understand why they had to separate. He understands perfectly well. Does he necessarily agree with it? No, but convincing Lambert to tell the other Wolves about him is a battle he's been fighting for the better part of two decades now. He's made some very encouraging headway, but the fight isn't over yet. Lambert isn't ready. And in the meantime he unfortunately cares enough about the asshole to respect his feelings. Which right now means making himself scarce for a week or so while he goes and meets with one of his brothers.

So no, he's not bitter. That's too extreme. But he's not happy either.

The sounds and smells he's assaulted with when he opens the front door to the tavern that doubles as this town's inn do nothing to lift his mood. But he grits his teeth and sets his face into something that usually doesn't scare people as much and waits for the woman running the bar to notice him. She's speaking to a brightly colored man in nice enough to be out of place clothing and leaning further over the bar than necessary to do so. He can smell lust coming off of both of them.

Eventually they both notice the witcher in the room and turn their attention to him. Aiden braces for their scents to sour with fear. 

They don't. The man grins at him like he's excited. The woman doesn't flinch to meet his eyes or drop her own smile. Their scents stay as content and comfortable as they were before they noticed him. He thinks the scent lust in the man's scent might have actually gotten stronger when he looked at Aiden.

Okay. That's… unexpected. Even in the more favorable towns he's been to, the people have still been a little scared. At least when they first spotted him, if not after. Maybe they don't realize that he's a witcher? It's genuinely never happened before–the whole inhuman eyes and dual swords thing tends to give it away pretty quickly–but that doesn't mean it can't.

"What can I do for you, witcher?" the woman says.

Nevermind. They definitely know. Maybe they don't realize he's a Cat? He didn't bother hiding his medallion–he rarely does when he's alone unless he's trying to pass as human to get close to a mark. He's not ashamed to be part of the School of the Cat, even if their reputation isn't the best, and he loves his schoolmates^[3]–but humans don't always bother looking closer than witcher, or care about the distinctions between the schools.

"How much for a meal and a room for the night?" he says instead of asking any of the many other questions he's beginning to have.

She frowns and glances at the man who still hasn't left the bar. "I can get you some food, but I'm afraid we don't have any free rooms right now with the festival coming up."

Well. That's unfortunate, but at least for once he thinks he might not be being lied to about there being a lack of available rooms. He'd been hoping to sleep in a bed tonight, but maybe he'll be able to find a nice rooftop to nap on. It won't be what he wanted, but it shouldn't rain tonight from what he saw and it will satisfy his urge to be high up in a way that sleeping in trees generally doesn't. And he'll still get a hot meal he didn't have to catch and cook himself. He opens his mouth to accept when the man beats him to it.

"You can stay with me in my room, if you'd prefer it to roughing it another night," the man says, still grinning brightly, still smelling strongly of lust. "We'd have to share the bed, but I can't say I would mind getting up close and personal with you and we can get to know each other over dinner anyways if that would make you more comfortable. I can even have sweet Mura here send a bath up for you right now if you'd like to wash off the road!"

What the fuck. Did he really just offer what Aiden thinks he just offered? Is he offering a bath and a bed for the night in exchange for sex? Aiden knows he's attractive but he's still a witcher, still a Cat. He's never been propositioned for sex work before. He's never even thought of what he would do if he was.

"I'm not looking for that type of work," he says in shock before he can stop himself. It's true, but it also sounds a lot like a no and he isn't sure his answer actually is no. Prostitution is a respectable profession and he's done much less respectable things for coin besides. Plus, looking at him, the man is actually very fucking pretty. He has the most gorgeous blue eyes Aiden has ever seen anywhere, let alone on a human, and smooth skin and pink lips that make him want to bite. He would look divine underneath him. Or on top of him, Aiden isn't picky. His and Lambert's relationship isn't an exclusive one–neither of them would say no to a nice roll in the hay with someone attractive and willing when they're apart, and sometimes not even when they're together–and Aiden can see himself trying to get into those brightly colored trousers in a different situation.

The man looks confused for all of half a second before he turns bright red and starts sputtering and waving his hands while the woman, Mura, slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle a laugh.

"Wh-I-No! No no no! That's not-that's not what I was suggesting at all. I just meant we might have to cuddle a little to both fit on the bed! Platonically! Not that I wouldn't or don't want to-to do that with you. You're very handsome! Very much the dashing rogue! But-I didn't-you're not obligated to to do anything with me in exchange for a place to sleep. Or for anything else! I just wanted to do something nice for you, that's all!"

Aiden snorts despite himself. The man looks at him in exaggerated despair and collapses face first onto the bar.

"Mura, be a dear and end my misery, won't you?" he groans into the wood. "I just ask that you please make it quick. And that you give my room to this handsome stranger as I will no longer be able to occupy it."

"Hmm," Mura pretends to think, "no, I don't think I'm going to do that."

"But Mura," the man whines, dragging her name out. He raises his head to give her some of the best puppy eyes Aiden has ever seen on a grown man. It's adorable. He wonders if he practices in the mirror.

"No," she somehow manages to say in the face of his puppy eyes. The smile on her face looks like it might hurt. "You did this to yourself, offering him a place in your bed before offering him your name."

The man sighs heavily. "I guess you're right." He turns back to Aiden, bright smile back in place. "My apologies, dear witcher, it seems I've forgotten my manners." He offers Aiden his hand to shake with a flourish. "I am the bard Jaskier, graduate of Oxenfurt and Master of the Seven Liberal Arts."

What.

Aiden forces himself to take his hand in a firm shake despite the shock that's numbing his limbs. He's too busy internally freaking out to process Mura's raised eyebrows at the introduction. "Aiden," he says, flashing his teeth in a smile. Of the Cats, he doesn't say. His medallion is visible around his neck, but on the off chance the man, Jaskier, holy shit, actually hasn't noticed it or hasn't recognized the animal on it as a snarling cat instead of a wolf he doesn't want to possibly throw away whatever chance he has at a good impression. Who knows what the White Wolf has said to him about the School of the Cat. 

Maybe he should have tucked his medallion in before he walked in here, ashamed of his school or not.

"You're the Toss a Coin bard, right?" Aiden says, like every damn witcher on the Continent isn't aware of who Jaskier is. Like they don't all have a largely unspoken agreement to protect him at all costs if they're in the position to even as they all agree he must be short a few cards from a full deck. Like Lambert didn't spend his whole winter bullying Geralt into agreeing to a late spring meet-up and then ditched Aiden for it specifically for the chance that the bard standing in front of Aiden right now would be there.

Sweet Melitele, Lambert is going to hate him when they meet back up next week. This is amazing. Possibly the greatest thing to ever happen to him, besides maybe his Wolf agreeing to a relationship with him.

"Oh! So you've heard of me!" Jaskier crows. "Yes, I wrote Toss a Coin and all the others about Geralt. I wouldn't mind writing a song about you , too, if you have any good stories to tell. Provided you include some details, of course. I'm afraid I only speak Geralt's language of grunts and stoic silences and I don't think it translates to other witchers."

"Not to worry," he says, letting a teasing grin slip onto his face, praying he's reading this interaction correctly and isn't about to massively offend the most important human on the Continent as far as witchers are concerned, "we're not all like the White Wolf. Most of us actually are capable of speaking in complete sentences and," he lowers his voice to a stage-whisper and leans in like he's sharing a secret, "some of us even know more than a half dozen adjectives."

Jaskier laughs, bright and joyful. Success , Aiden thinks. "And would you happen to be one of those few, Aiden?"

"It might just be your lucky day because as a matter of fact I would be," he says, "and I might just have one or two song-worthy stories too." He pauses. "You're not worried about the White Wolf getting jealous? I wouldn't want to upset Pretty Boy." In all honesty he doesn't really care if Geralt is upset with him. If Geralt is careless enough to let Jaskier travel on his own when he doesn't have to and that leads to him picking up stray witchers then that's simply not his problem. Geralt should know better. But Geralt already has a thing against Cats and he doubts having him return to Kaer Morhen this winter complaining that a witcher named Aiden poached his bard is going to do him any favors in the way of getting Lambert to introduce him to his family.

The air spikes sharply with sorrow for just a second, there and gone almost too fast for Aiden to catch it. "No, I wouldn't worry about that," Jaskier's smile loses something, fading from the too-bright sunshine grin it was moments ago. He feels colder, somehow, in its absence, even as the bard's lips remain curled upwards. Aiden immediately wants it back. "Geralt doesn't care much for my singing," Jaskier leans in, a teasing edge coming into his grin, "and between you and me, I don't think he'd even notice if I started singing about other witchers. Probably be too busy tending to his horse."

That… doesn't sound right. Witchers everywhere love Jaskier. It simply can't be that Geralt, the White Wolf himself, doesn't appreciate him. Not when he's the one the bard chooses to travel with all year. Not when the improved treatment they all enjoy is mostly a byproduct of the bard inexplicably setting out to fix Geralt's reputation post-Blaviken specifically.  

Maybe it's an inside joke they have? Fuck, Aiden hopes it's an inside joke he's not a part of. Because if it isn't, then Geralt is a bigger asshole than all of Aiden's Schoolmates combined and he might just have to track him down and stab him somewhere painful, his plans to foster goodwill for Lambert's sake be damned.

The there-and-gone spike of sorrow in the air makes him think that maybe it isn't a joke. But for Lambert's sake he's willing to give Geralt the benefit of the doubt and consider that he may have misidentified or imagined it.

"Well, that's not very nice of him," Aiden frowns. "If I had the great honor of traveling with the Master Bard Jaskier," he says, tossing Jaskier a wink and a grin, " I wouldn't be caught dead missing one of his performances. Not if I had a choice."

"Geralt is my best friend in the whole wide world," Jaskier says, insists, bright but with an edge of steel in his eyes, "and I wouldn't trade him for anything. It doesn't matter if he likes my singing or not," he says. It sounds a lot like it's something he uses to convince himself. Aiden can't detect any of the usual signs that someone is lying, so it might even work. Jaskier's smile turns self-deprecating. "We'll see if you still think that later this evening after I perform."

Aiden's brow pinches. It's not right that Jaskier of all bards thinks like that. It's like he doesn't know that practically any witcher would give an eye or a finger to see him perform and be able to thank him for what he's done for them in person. He doesn't know what humans think of him, but has Geralt not told him how universally loved he is among witchers? Aiden knows he's aware, Lambert told him about how he and Eskel hassle him for details about his bard the whole winter and practically beg to meet him, for him to bring him to Kaer Morhen for just one winter.

Jaskier claps his hands together once and continues before Aiden can say anything, seemingly completely over his dip into self-deprecation. "Now, did you want that bath now or did you want to wait until after you've eaten? You should have enough time now but I should warn you that you might miss the beginning of tonight's performance if you choose to eat first."^[4]

"So, what did you think? Three words or less, witcher," Jaskier says, breathless and grinning uncontrollably, flushed from the performance. He's sweaty and gross from the exertion of dancing around the entire tavern for hours on end. Aiden thinks he's beautiful.

Three words or less, huh? Aiden thinks. There's a lot of things he might say about Jaskier's performance tonight, all of them good. In all honesty, listening to Jaskier perform in person turned out to be astronomically better than any tavern-circuit bard he's heard repeating his songs had led him to believe. He's better than just about any bard Aiden has ever heard, even on his occasional afternoons and evenings spent up in court rafters. It strikes him just how lucky all witchers are that it's Jaskier singing songs about them being heroes worthy of respect. He really does have a voice that could change history. But three words isn't nearly enough to communicate that.

Aiden could make it a tease. He could say better than expected or not entirely awful with a smirk. He could make it flattery, say phenomenal, as expected or court-circuit worthy with a disarming smile. He could say any of those things and they would be true, even, if not the most transparent way of communicating his enjoyment. But he remembers Geralt doesn't care much for my singing and we'll see if you still think that later and thinks that maybe dodging real honesty isn't the best way he can play this.

Aiden softens his expression and chooses to speak sincerely.

"Amazing. Beautiful. Captivating," he says. If Lambert were here he would kick him under the table for how wide he's allowed his pupils to get. Lambert could bite him, Jaskier deserves the blatant affection of it. And he doubts Lambert would be faring much better, anyhow. He doesn't care if he looks like an adoring dumbass. "That's three words. Does that satisfy you? I can give you more."

Jaskier blinks. He stares at his face, seemingly searching for something. After a long moment, he must find whatever he was looking for because he swallows and firms his grip on the neck of his lute and says in a voice that strikes Aiden as far too small, even as it tries not to be, "You really liked it that much?"

"I did," he says, maintaining eye contact. "You're good enough to be making your living at court, if my limited experience with bards is anything to go off of. I don't know if I've ever heard anyone better, even at court. And, if you're interested, I still stand by what I said earlier. Given the opportunity, I wouldn't miss even one performance of yours if I didn't have to. I was expecting you to be good, and you still turned out to be better . Your voice is beautiful and the way you performed was artful and captivating. Captivating enough to thoroughly distract me from eating my dinner." He gestures to his half eaten dinner to emphasize just how enraptured he was watching Jaskier. If Jaskier has paid any attention at all while traveling with Geralt he will know how difficult it can be to distract a hungry witcher from a plate of good food.

Jaskier looks rather like he's been hit over the head with something big and unwieldy. Aiden takes mercy on him. "Speaking of eating dinner, I think it's time that you sat down and ate. Don't worry," he nudges the untouched plate by his elbow, "Mura only dropped it off for you about fifteen minutes before she stepped in to tell everyone you were done for the night and I made sure no one tampered with it since then. It's safe to eat." He doesn't say that the only thing that was able to redirect his attention from watching Jaskier perform with single-minded focus was thoroughly checking that the food Mura dropped off for him was indeed safe and not even a little bit poisoned. There's no such thing as being too careful, but some people think that's paranoid behavior.

He expects Jaskier to slide his plate over to the other side of the table and sit across from him. He seemed weirdly opposed to allowing him to sit in the darkest corner and eat alone like he usually does earlier, practically ordering Aiden to save him a seat at his table, so he doubts he would move to another table, even if that's what most others would do. Instead Jaskier leaves his plate where it is and plops himself down right next to Aiden, close enough that their arms press together. Aiden stiffens at the contact, not because he's opposed to it, but because he doesn't know how the remaining occupants of the tavern are going to react. They may not have batted an eye at his presence among them–which is still fucking weird, but isn't something he's willing to examine too closely right now lest it fall apart under observation and scrutiny–but it's obvious that Jaskier is already greatly loved here and Aiden hasn't been nearly this close with him in public so far.^[5]

Aiden glances around the tavern, ready to get up as non-threateningly as possible and make a retreat if it looks like the other patrons start to take offense to him being so close to the bard–he doesn't want to be involved in an unnecessary fight tonight. But after most of them do nothing more than glance over to them–there isn't even a spike of the sour scent of fear that's been mysteriously absent from the room thus far–before returning to what's left of their meals or drinks, he's forced to acknowledge that nothing is going to happen and relax. 

He leans maybe a little further into Jaskier's warmth than is strictly necessary for him to continue eating his meal, but he doubts Jaskier minds it with how he sighs contentedly and practically melts into his side as he starts in on his own plate. 

"You still owe me a story, Aiden," Jaskier says eventually when he's halfway through his own plate and Aiden has been done with his own for several minutes. "Don't think you're getting out of it! I know how you witcher types can be and I won't be tricked or redirected! I will get that story." Jaskier pushes against him playfully with his shoulder. Aiden lets himself be shifted by it.

It does its job of pulling Aiden out of where he was basking in the easy affection of sitting so closely while enjoying a meal, just conscious enough of their surroundings to be aware of any potential threats. He glances at Jaskier, still plastered against his side as he continues to eat. He looks so peaceful, completely unconcerned with the fact that he's leaning against a killer. Like he doesn't believe that Aiden might ever hurt him. Unprompted, guilt bubbles up deep in his gut.

He's starting to regret not including his School when he introduced himself.

"Of course you will," he says instead of the confession that's building behind his teeth. He puts on a grin just as playful as Jaskier's. "I never intended to deny you. What sort of story did you want to hear?"

"Something daring and heroic, of course. Or, hmm," Jaskier pauses in thought, "something funny, maybe, if you have one. I know hunts typically aren't a laughing matter–very serious and dire and life-threatening and all–but I don't have any comedic witcher songs yet–Geralt is so dreadfully tight-lipped about any of the details of his hunts I can hardly write about the fight at all, let alone anything funny that might have happened. And I can just imagine the not-lecture he would give me if I tried making one of the stories he tells me into something comedic, nevermind that it would make him more approachable. Ugh."

"Something funny…" Well. That's a bit tricky, with his life, but he's sure he has something. 

He can't use anything he's done with Lambert or any of his Schoolmates, not without asking them if they would be okay with it ending up in a comedic song. That would be rude.^[6] And he refuses to use anything from contracts he's taken on humans–he doesn't want to scare Jaskier with that and he doubts that kind of thing would gain him any favors even in a Jaskier song. In fact, he should probably avoid anything that involved anyone dying point blank. And he doubts Jaskier would find the more unrealistic accusations he's had hurled at his back as he's chased out of a town funny, not like another witcher might if he timed it right. 

So that cuts out… actually a rather significant portion of his life. Damn, that really puts into perspective how much violence is in his life, huh? Wow. That's depressing. He sets that realization aside to contemplate approximately never and keeps digging for a nice, funny memory of his time on the Path. He's been alive for too long for there to be nothing . He knows that humorous things must happen to him every once in a while, no matter how rarely. His life can't be that sad.

"Do you know how house cats hate witchers?" Aiden asks after a far longer moment than he's willing to acknowledge.

"Yes," Jaskier says, looking at him appraisingly, "they always hiss at Geralt and run whenever he gets close to them. I've never really understood why , but he said it was a witcher thing when I asked. Why?"

"When I first started out on the Path, I hadn't yet learned that," Aiden starts, "and, being new to the Path, I was still learning to manage my expectations and my coin. Halfway through the year I found myself without a copper to my name and started looking for work in odd places. I accepted what I thought would be an easy contract from a noblewoman with far too much coin to throw around. All I had to do was get her cat out of a tree and bring it back to her. It would take ten minutes, tops, I thought, foolishly," he turns to stare at Jaskier with deliberately haunted eyes. He looks like he's hanging onto his every word. Good. "Little did I know that it would actually take the entire day and involve a jump from the roof of a seven story building, three entirely too deep mud puddles, two separate brothels on opposite sides of the city, a chase through the city by the guard, and several encounters with some unfortunate clotheslines before I finally caught that little demon," he says, hissing out the last word.^[7]

Jaskier bursts out laughing. Aiden smirks like the cat that got the canary. "I could tell you that story, if you want."

"Please," Jaskier gasps out, "you have to tell me that story."

Footnotes:

¹Lambert still gets himself thrown out of many inns and taverns with his attitude. Aiden can attest to that, he's often getting thrown out with him. Does he deserve it? Aiden wouldn't argue he doesn't, usually. He would leave anyways even if they didn't kick him out with Lambert, but he doesn't think he deserves to be thrown out just by association with him. But the point is that Aiden probably couldn't act like that without getting thrown out of every inn. Lambert only gets tossed out on his ass about a third of the time now.^{[return to text]}

²Something as trivial as temperature has never stopped Aiden from piling into a wagon with five or so of his schoolmates to sleep. Not even in the dead of summer. And it certainly wouldn't be stopping him from cuddling up to his Wolf any time soon. It didn't stop him from kissing him either. Or any of the other activities they got up to that morning before Lambert shooed him away.^{[return to text]}

³They're all assholes with what are perhaps incredibly skewed moral compasses (not that he can claim to be much better), but he loves them. They're his family, his Clowder. He only hides his association with them when he's pulling a grift on some humans. Which, admittedly, he does do fairly often when he's with Lambert. It's just easier to tuck his medallion under his armor, omit his school when introducing himself, and let people assume he's a Wolf like Lambert when they see them together. It cuts down on the friction.^{[return to text]}

⁴Like hell is Aiden going to miss any part of that performance. Besides the fact that doing so would probably reinforce Jaskier's obvious and obviously undeserved insecurities, he and everyone else he knows has wanted to see Jaskier perform live and in person for the better part of last several years, basically ever since they figured out he was serious about his whole "witchers are heroes" schtick. He thinks if he returned to Lambert or, Melitele forbid,l the Caravan and told them he willingly and consciously made the choice to miss part of Jaskier's performance tonight in favor of a meal and a bath of all things and he wasn't damn near on death's doorstep when he did so, he'd be eaten alive.^{[return to text]}

⁵There was a moment where they had gotten rather close together when Aiden had gone to take his bath earlier. Jaskier had seen him grab his bar soap from his pack and practically demanded that he use some of the bard's collection of scented hair oils and other bath accoutrements. They had gotten very close when Jaskier had asked to take a closer look at his hair to decide which of his products would work best with his hair texture. Aiden had to stop himself from purring at the feeling of gentle fingers in his hair. All the vials Jaskier ended up thrusting into his hands before marching back out the door in a whirlwind to give him privacy had acceptable scents at what probably shouldn't have been so surprising witcher-safe levels. All in all it was a positive experience for him, but the point was that that had been behind closed doors and not in the middle of a tavern.^{[return to text]}

⁶Aiden does not actually care if it would be rude. Lambert might get a little mad, but then anger is his first response to just about everything so that hardly means anything. His Schoolmates probably wouldn't care and might actually prefer that he did share a story involving them. And he just might. Some other time. This time is his.^{[return to text]}

⁷The worst part of this story is that really, it could have been an in and out in ten minutes type of contract if he wasn't such a dumbass about it. What he should have done was cast axii on that little demon at the first available opportunity so he could pick them up and return them to the ground without a fuss. It would have been difficult to get back down while both holding the cat and the sign, but he's confident that he could have managed. But that would have been the smart thing to do, so of course he only thought about it after the cat booked it in the opposite direction.^{[return to text]}

Chapter Text

It's very late by the time they make it back upstairs to Jaskier's room. It should come as no surprise that Jaskier wastes no time in getting ready for the blissful respite of sleep once they enter. It makes sense. The bard gave a physically exhausting performance not too long ago on top of whatever else he had gotten up to before Aiden showed up. And then on top of that, he pestered the witcher for story after story until he was yawning after every other sentence.

Aiden is still surprised.

Even as Aiden forms the sign for igni to light the candles in the room so the bard will be able to see what he's doing,^[8] Jaskier is across the room and carefully setting his lute against the desk, miraculously not tripping over either of their packs or anything else on the way there. Aiden thinks he might turn around at that, get the Cat in the room back in his line of sight, but he doesn't. He stands with his back to him while he fiddles with something on his doublet Aiden can't see before shrugging it off and carefully laying it across the back of the chair that sits at the desk. He then shucks off the rest of his clothes until he's down to his braies, places them on them on the chair–back still to Aiden–and promptly collapses face first onto the half of the bed that's against the wall.

The absolute ease and confidence with which he does it all, like he's completely unconcerned with the idea that Aiden could hurt him, reminds him that he's still as good as lying to Jaskier, even if he hasn't technically said anything untrue.

It's a very vulnerable position to be in, Aiden thinks. Nearly naked, blind to his surroundings, and on his stomach. From that position, it would be difficult for him to defend himself, but downright easy for someone to put a knee on his spine, grab a fistful of his hair, pull his head back, and slit his throat before he even knew they were there. From there it would be just as easy to jump out the window and skip town. No noise, no witnesses, no killer to catch and hang. No one would find the body for hours yet. Aiden would know. He's done it, once or twice.

Jaskier would be scared of him, if he knew that.^[9]

After a few seconds of laying unmoving on the bed, Jaskier starts wiggling. He wiggles until he manages to get his body under the covers and his back against the wall. Aiden would think it was funny if he wasn't busy pushing down his nausea.

He swallows and forces himself to get ready to sleep in a bed with a partner with a force of will only seen in men who quite often find themselves drowning in guilt on too-lonely nights. He picks a spot on the wall to stare at and tries to remind himself that Jaskier isn't scared of him and has offered his bed of his own free will. It only barely helps. 

When he turns back to the bed, one corner of the blanket has been turned down for him in a clear reiteration of Jaskier's earlier offer that they might share the bed, and Jaskier himself is quietly watching him through sleep-hooded eyes. It makes him feel sick, but the nausea doesn't stop him from wanting.

Aiden wants to join him under the covers. He wants to flop over him and curl around him like he might one of his Schoolmates. He wants to run his fingers through his hair. He wants to hold him. He wants Jaskier to feel safe in his arms.

He could have that, he thinks. But it would be a lie, wouldn't it?

Aiden sits on the bed. He doesn't get under the covers. He doesn't even look at Jaskier. He stares at the wall instead.

What a fantastic time for him to have a crisis of conscience, he thinks. He can and has killed men in cold blood without so much as a flinch. And he will do it again. But apparently he can't stomach even lying by omission for long when it comes to one specific bard. It's funny, almost, if he doesn't think of all the ways it's really not.

His medallion burns where it rests against his skin.

Jaskier makes a strange sort of whining sound from his place in the bed behind him, his scent shifting with the beginnings of confusion and mild upset. It makes Aiden want to turn and shush him, brush his hair from his face and press his lips to his forehead, pull him to his chest and purr for him until he's happy and content again. 

He doesn't deserve that, though, does he?

…But maybe he could do it anyway? It wouldn't be the first time that Aiden has taken something that didn't belong to him. And, if he thinks about it a certain way, it wouldn't even be his fault, really, if he takes something he's not meant to have here. Even if he never explicitly stated he was a Cat, that information was and is still freely available to Jaskier, Aiden reasons. His medallion has been clearly visible. If Jaskier has really traveled with Pretty Boy so long he ought to know what the snarling cat on it means. But then again, if he did recognize his medallion Aiden strongly doubts Jaskier would be acting so trusting right now. Not this soon. They've only known each other a few hours, most of which was spent in front of witnesses. He hasn't had the chance to prove himself yet.

Jaskier reaches out and hooks callused fingers around his wrist. He doesn't turn around. "Aiden?"

"I'm a Cat," Aiden says before he can clamp his teeth down on the confession. He abruptly goes utterly still.

The confusion in Jaskier's scent intensifies, but the sour tang of fear Aiden expects does not appear. Did he really not know, somehow? "Okay," he says slowly. "And? What does that have to do with why you're not getting under the covers?"

"I'm a Cat," Aiden says again, because apparently once wasn't enough to get the point across and it's too late to back out now. "A witcher of the School of the Cat."

"Yes, I know." What? "I saw your medallion. But I ask again, and?" Jaskier huffs. Aiden hears the bed creak as he shifts. "Do all Cats take an oath against sleeping in beds? Or under covers? Or cuddling with bards? Because if you do there has to be a story behind why you have such a specific rule and I need to hear it. But I won't be sleeping on the floor tonight for it."

"Wh-why would-no, we don't take any oath like- what?" He risks a glance to the side to look at Jaskier, now propped up on one elbow, unable to help himself at the absurdity of that suggestion and what it might mean. It can't be that Geralt didn't tell him. Geralt has a thing against Cats and he's not shy about it. It's doubtful he refrained from slandering them in his best friend's hearing. And it's not as if the School of the Cat's more flexible morals are a well kept secret anyway.

The whole bed shifts as Jaskier collapses back down against it dramatically, all the air leaving his lungs in a whoosh. "Then what does you being a Cat have to do with why you've been sitting there trying to bore a hole in that wall with nothing but the sheer force of your thoughts for the past ten minutes instead of getting comfortable and cuddling with me under the covers?"

He shifts his gaze back to land firmly away from Jaskier, feeling suddenly quite small at the prospect of having to explain himself to Jaskier, to explain why Jaskier should be scared of him.

"We accept contracts on humans," Aiden admits quietly. "Sometimes. When we need the coin." He keeps his gaze on the wall in front of him. This isn't a conversation he ever thought he would have, it's never been one he's had to have. He doesn't want to have it. Especially not with Jaskier.

"For a third time, I'll ask, and?" Jaskier says, sounding exasperated. Aiden… doesn't understand the question. What isn't Jaskier understanding?

"And that means I could hurt you," he forces out. He feels like he's destroying something precious . He should have just gotten under the covers. Or found a nice spot to nap on the roof or something, if he couldn't handle the guilt of his silence. He could have tried again tomorrow. He can't now.

He hears Jaskier sigh, followed by shuffling and creaking sounds that indicate he's moving. He stares at the wall. There's a large barely there rust-colored stain in an asymmetrical splotch spilling onto the floor. It tells him someone died here once. Murdered, most likely. The height and general shape of it make it unlikely that it was a slit throat. Probably a blade to the gut then, with the victim falling against the wall and sliding down. He pretends he doesn't see Jaskier appear beside him out of the corner of his eye.

"Aiden, look at me," Jaskier says, placing a hand on his arm. He clenches his jaw and resolutely does not move an inch. "Please, Aiden?" Almost against his will, his gaze snaps over to Jaskier and meets brilliant blue. Jaskier holds his eye without flinching.

Jaskier's lips twitch up into a soft smile. Aiden aches. "Thank you, darling. Now, if I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?"

"Yes," he says, because he will. He doesn't want to lie to Jaskier, he finds. He doubts he could handle it even if he did. 

"That's good. Thank you," Jaskier says again. "I just have one question. Have you accepted a contract on me?"

"No," he says firmly, immediately, "and I never would. No Cat would." Please believe me.

Jaskier's smile widens, seemingly pleased with his answer. He pats Aiden's arm. "That's all I need to know then. Are you ready to lie down now? I was looking forward to having my own personal witcher-shaped furnace in my bed tonight. I get cold easily."

"Wait. That's it?" Aiden asks, turning sideways to get a better look at Jaskier. "That's all you need?"

"Yep!" Jaskier says brightly. He starts tugging on Aiden's arm. "That's all I need."

Aiden lets himself be guided to lie down in the bed. He looks up at Jaskier. He hesitates. "I could have lied, for all you know."

Jaskier looks at him. "Did you?" Aiden shuts his mouth and shakes his head. "Then that doesn't matter. Now be a dear and do that witcher thing that douses the candles without you having to get up and relax," Jaskier says. He promptly flops half on top ofhim, burying his face in Aiden's chest, hooking his leg over his hip and clinging like it's a completely normal thing to do. Like he really does believe Aiden won't hurt him on nothing but his word.

Aiden obediently casts aard as precisely as he knows how, plunging the room into darkness.

Aiden hasn't been able to look away from Jaskier in an hour.

This wouldn't be so much of a problem if he wasn't supposed to be using this time to sleep before picking up that contract in the morning. He'll probably be fine, even without sleep tonight, but it would be better if he rested. He didn't sleep last night either, too upset about being sent away from his Wolf so Lambert could maybe meet Jaskier. Without him.

Aiden can't wait to ask him how his meeting went. He'll have to be sure to act sympathetic when he says Geralt was alone, it wouldn't do to play his hand too early. He's not going to say a thing about his time alone until Lambert returns the question and he can revel in the look on his face.

But that's later. Right now, there's a bard, the bard, really, as far as any witcher is concerned, sleeping peacefully on his chest. It's something he's only ever considered in the privacy of his mind on the nicest of evenings, the thought that he might be trusted like this by this human. Any human really, but for it to be this one specifically is like something out of a particularly nice dream. 

Aiden doesn't often get nice dreams. He pinches the skin of his stomach anyways. It hurts.

Jaskier's face is smushed against his chest. His mouth is open and there's a small puddle of drool forming beneath him. He's also quietly snoring. Every so often he'll quietly mutter something that doesn't make any sense at all and then nuzzle into him and squeeze his limbs around him like he wants to somehow get even closer together. Aiden thinks he might be one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen.

It's so rare that humans feel safe enough around him to sleep, let alone do so thoroughly cuddled up to him. Lambert, yes, he wraps himself around him in beds and on bed rolls and sometimes even falls asleep with his head in his lap. His Schoolmates, of course, will let him flop on top of them or flop on top of him themselves and purr until they all fall asleep. But they're witchers. It's different. Humans generally try not to be in situations with him where they might have to share the same space to sleep, let alone willingly sleep on top of him. Even paid company, when he goes for that, charges exorbitant rates for something like this and usually will only go as far as a light doze for the time he's there, if that, and even then only if he pretends to fall asleep first. And they always reek of barely contained fear the entire time, no matter how good of an actor they are by human standards.

And then there's Jaskier, who just as good as ordered him to get in the bed specifically so he could cuddle up to him and then knocked out so hard Aiden half thinks he would sleep straight through a brawl breaking out downstairs, shouting and all. And he did it so casually , too, and without a hint of fear in his scent, like he didn't believe for a second anything bad would come of trying to push Aiden around like that. Like he trusted Aiden to be gentle and careful and kind with him, no matter what.

Aiden doesn't understand why he's getting this–it doesn't make any sense –but right now isn't the time to dwell on that. He knows he doesn't deserve a moment like this. He's taking it anyway. It's his. For now, at least.

Aiden's mouth is dry. There's water in a pitcher over by the washbasin, just steps away. It would take thirty seconds to get a drink and return to bed. Getting up to get it would necessarily require dislodging Jaskier from his place on his chest.

Aiden does not get up. He reaches up with the hand Jaskier hasn't captured and gently traces the lines of his face. He breathes in deeply through his nose. Jaskier smells of happiness and content and, strangely enough, simple love.

It's an amazing thing, he discovers, to be trusted, to be loved so quickly and easily by someone so much more fragile than himself. It's also terrifying . This is the quickest he's ever come by the surety that he would burn the world down for someone.

Eventually, Aiden forces himself to close his eyes. He focuses on the steady rhythm of Jaskier's heartbeat and tries to sleep.

Footnotes:

⁸Aiden might be able to see well enough with nothing but the low light of the moon filtering in through the window, but he knows humans have worse night vision. He's used that fact to his advantage many times. And it's not like it's difficult for him to light the candles for Jaskier. Lighting candles with igni and dousing the flames with aard precisely and without unintended collateral damage used to be something of a game among newly mutated Cats. Aiden is quite good at it, if he says so himself. He hasn't accidentally burned down a building or half a forest in decades . Unlike Kyv, they're terrible at sign precision.^{[return to text]}

⁹Sometimes, in winter when he's with the Caravan, Aiden looks at his Schoolmates and forgets to remember that the outside world hates them, that it vilifies them for doing things that someone else is willing to pay a hefty fee for. Sometimes he'll climb a tree and watch his Schoolmates and hum one of Jaskier's songs and wonder what it might be like to be trusted and cared for and loved like Jaskier clearly loves Geralt. Sometimes Cedric, who Aiden would swear has simply always been the Big Sibling of the Caravan, will find him. Sometimes he'll ask them if they think Jaskier might look over their Schoolmates and see the same thing they do, if he might ever love one of them in the same way he loves his White Wolf, if they ever got to meet him. Always, Cedric will get sad and sigh and remind him that Jaskier travels with a Wolf, and the most self-righteous one at that. They don't need to say anything else. But they do give him a hug.^{[return to text]}

Chapter Text

Aiden wakes up slowly.

The bed beneath him is soft. There's a warm weight in his arms that smells like ocean air and orange blossoms and adoration and content. A steady heartbeat thumps by his ear. Fingers slowly pet through his hair, making his spine tingle in soft pleasure and enveloping him in a sense of calm and safety . Someone is humming, just softly, just enough that Aiden can feel the vibration of it against his face where it's pressed into the hollow of their neck. It feels a lot like a purr.

Aiden turns his face to block out more of the morning light and nuzzles closer to the source of everything currently good in the world. The sleepy purr in his chest picks up a notch.

"I know you're awake, Aiden," the person that's holding him says quietly, huffing a laugh.

Lies. Lies and slander. He's asleep. He is. Being awake means moving. It means leaving the safe, comfortable embrace he's found himself in. It means facing the day. That's not something he's ready to do. Therefore, he's still asleep. It's flawless logic. Aiden mentally pats himself on the back for coming up with such a good counterargument.

He tries to explain as much to his bed partner, but it comes out as more of a muffled, mumbled sort of whine. They huff and pause in their petting just long enough to press a kiss to the top of head and don't force him to move, so he thinks they might have understood anyway. Aiden scrapes his teeth against their skin in an affectionate nip in thanks. He takes the quiet gasp it earns him as confirmation of a message received.

"Alright," they say quietly. Aiden likes their voice. It's pretty. He kind of wants to drown in it. "We don't have to get up just yet. It's still early."

Aiden pulls them closer and squeezes. He wonders if he would be able to press them together so tightly that this moment would never have to end.

"Ask." Jaskier interrupts the silence of their shared breakfast.

"What?" Aiden asks, caught off guard. He hadn't said anything. 

"You have a question. You're thinking quite loudly about it. You should ask it, whatever it is." Damn. He didn't think he was being that obvious. He had been trying not to make his staring between bites too noticeable. He probably should have accounted more for the fact that Jaskier regularly spends entire seasons with one of the most taciturn bastards there is. He's probably used to figuring out when people are holding something back.

Well. He's already been caught out. He might as well satisfy his curiosity. He sets down his silverware. He wants to take out a dagger, just to hold, just to feel the familiar weight of it in his hands, but he left most of his upstairs with his armor and he doesn't know if Jaskier would understand he wasn't doing it as a threat anyways. In his experience, most people assume that visible knife plus questions equals threatening interrogation every time. But then Jaskier is far from being most people , so maybe he would understand? Best not risk it either way. He reaches up to grab his medallion instead, running his fingers over lines, familiar enough to him that he'd be able to pick it out of a pile of witcher medallions blind drunk and half dead.

"...You didn't seem surprised last night," he starts, "when I brought up the idea of witchers taking contracts on humans. Or when I said that I might be one of the witchers that accepts them." And that fact has been killing him. It doesn't make any sense.

Jaskier hums and looks down to cut the thick slices of ham on his plate into pieces. "No, I wasn't. Geralt has told me that there are Schools that accept contracts on humans. The Cats and the Vipers mainly, I think he said." He takes a bite of the ham, chews, and swallows. He looks back across the table at Aiden. "But that wasn't your question, was it?" It wasn't, not really.

"If you knew," Aiden says, "then why weren't you scared?"

"Why would I be?" Jaskier shoots back, then waves his hand when Aiden opens his mouth. "No. Don't answer that. I already know what you're going to say and I know I won't like it," he says, frowning. He reaches across the space between them to grab one of Aiden's hands and meets his eyes. "Aiden, you're not scary, okay? Just because you could kill me doesn't mean I'm going to be scared of you for the crime of, what? Existing in my vicinity? Taking me up on an offer that I made , entirely uncoerced? Getting close to me when I specifically consented to that?" 

Jaskier pauses to take a breath, eyes practically daring him to say something against him. Aiden is tempted to do it, too. He feels the urge to lay out in vivid detail every terrible thing he's ever done, every crime he's ever committed if only to prove him wrong and get those too kind eyes off of him rise up in a sickening wave. 

Jaskier presses on before he has the chance to so much as open his mouth.

"There are a lot of things that could kill me. Open up your bestiary to any page and that's probably something that could kill me. Knowing me, there's likely a laundry list of humans that want me dead. And they could pull it off, too, if they were smart about it. Hell, even a particularly enraged squirrel could do me in, if they were determined enough. You're not special just because you're a Cat, Aiden, and I'm not about to be scared of you simply because you could kill me. Especially not after you explicitly told me you wouldn't. I don't make a practice of being scared of people who don't want to hurt me."

That can't be right, Aiden thinks. It would be too nice, too kind for a witcher. Too kind for a Cat. Jaskier can't actually think like that. No one thinks like that. It's always guilty until proven innocent for witchers, and doubly so for Cats. But he can't detect anything that would tell him that Jaskier is lying. His heartbeat is steady and calm. His scent hasn't shifted at all. His eyes haven't flicked away from his own even once.

Could it be true? It's hard to imagine someone like Jaskier existing.

"But," he weakly tries to argue, "Geralt has a thing against Cats–"

Jaskier snorts and cuts him off. "Geralt isn't in charge of me," he says. "We're best friends and I love him to death, but that doesn't mean I think the damn sun shines out of his ass and he's right about everything. I'm perfectly capable of forming my own opinions and I know better than most that even though Geralt might not say a lot of things, that doesn't make what he does say the end-all be-all of opinions. Yes, Geralt has warned me against the Cats and the Vipers, but he should know better than to think I would actually follow his advice there." Jaskier scoffs. "If I followed other people's advice about witchers then I very well wouldn't be friends with him and that would be a true tragedy."

"Oh," Aiden says. He feels a bit like he got run over by one of the Caravan's wagons. Jaskier squeezes his hand.

"Was there anything else, kitten?" Jaskier asks with a kind smile.

"Kitten?" Aiden has to ask. He doesn't think a human has ever used that endearment for him. He likes the shape of it on Jaskier's lips.

"Yes! Kitten. Because you're about as dangerous to me as a tiny kitten, even if you are dangerous to some," Jaskier says. His smile turns teasing, "and because you're adorable when you're sleepy. Like a little baby kitten."

Aiden's ears feel hot. "Oh, uh," he says, then clears his throat. He should say something back, he thinks. Something flirty and charming about Jaskier being adorable with an equally adorable endearment tacked on at the end. But Jaskier thinks he's not scary, thinks he's safe , even, if he's reading between the lines correctly, and he can't –"Okay. No, that was it."

Jaskier pats his hand and retreats back across the table. "In that case you better eat up! You've got a hunt today, remember? Really, kitten, I won't have you getting taken out by a pack of drowners because you didn't finish your breakfast," he says, returning to his own meal.

Slowly, Aiden begins eating his breakfast again. Question answered, he stares at Jaskier between bites for entirely different reasons. Jaskier doesn't ask about it this time, just smiles whenever he looks up and catches his eyes on him.

Chapter Text

Jaskier is frowning at him. Again.

Aiden really wishes he wouldn't. He wants Jaskier to smile at him. He doesn't like it when he frowns. It means he's not happy. Aiden wants to make him happy.

"When was the last time you had this repaired?" Jaskier asks, fingering a spot on his armor that's gone fragile with wear. He raises his eyes to look at something over his shoulder instead. His frown deepens. Jaskier squints at him. "Or had your sword resilvered?" 

Aiden winces. It's been longer than he'd like to admit. Too long. Long enough that he's been considering leaving Lambert's side to find a different sort of contract to make what they would need to properly repair their gear. "Money's been tight," he deflects. Especially when it's being split between two witchers who both need those things on top of everything else they have to pay for. "But this contract should help, if they actually pay." He doesn't have to explain the caveat to Jaskier.

Jaskier purses his lips and moves his hand to touch one of the places where he's been forced to attach a hastily made patch. He runs his thumb over the stitches. "I don't like it," he says. He smells angry. And sad. "It's not safe for you to be going out like this. You can't keep fighting monsters or whatever else and keeping people safe if you die because you can't afford to fix the things that keep you safe."

"There's nothing safe about being a witcher," he says. "This is just what it's like. It's okay."

"It's not," Jaskier says firmly, holding his eye.

Aiden sighs quietly. "I know," he whispers. He tries not to think about it too often.

It's silent for a long moment, Jaskier touching all the places his armor might fail him like just knowing them might keep him protected and Aiden trying to think of some way to make him less worried about a problem he can't fix.

While it's possible he will die today–because it's always possible, and believing otherwise is exactly how a witcher ends up being proved wrong–it is unlikely. He's not in such a terrible state that he will allow himself to be killed by some lousy drowners without putting up one hell of a fight. This hunt shouldn't even take that long. He just has to speak to the alderman to confirm that he's taking the contract, locate the drowners, kill them, collect the brains and tongues to gift to Lambert for his alchemy supplies, collect proof of his kill if required, and return.

"Listen," he says, placing his own hand on Jaskier's and throwing on a smirking grin and the tone of voice that always makes Lambert accuse him of being a cocky asshole, "I'll be back within three hours. Four at most." He gently squeezes his hand and softens his tone. "If I'm not, then you can get help and come in after me, okay? I'll be alright. Don't worry so much."

 Jaskier stares at him hard, but relents. "Okay," he says. "Four hours. Then I'll panic. If I'm not in our room when you get back, come find me at the market so I know you're safe, okay? I have an errand or two to run in a bit and then after that I was going to see about getting a new journal from one of the stalls there."

"Okay," Aiden agrees easily, "I'll find you at the market." 

"And tell me if the alderman shorts your payment. I'll set him straight," Jaskier adds, eyes going hard again. Aiden doesn't know what, exactly, a bard could do to an alderman who doesn't pay a witcher, but by the look on Jaskier's face he is sure he has something in mind.

Aiden returns from his hunt in a state of mild shock.

Not from the hunt itself, no, that went well. Maybe even better than normal, considering the memory of Jaskier's worry had him being even more careful than he usually might be. But still, nothing out of the ordinary happened at all. Just some judicious use of quen and igni and a few swings of his sword and it was over. He didn't even get scratched and there's hardly any monster gore on him at all.

It was his interaction with the alderman after the fact that was… odd.

The alderman was nice enough when he introduced himself and informed him that he was taking the contract, as far as aldermen go. Nice enough that Aiden was hopeful he might even be paid the full amount for this job, as unlikely as that was. He didn't insult him even a little bit. 

But when Aiden returned for his pay, the bag of coins he was handed wasn't even close to the right weight. Which in and of itself isn't unusual, he's shortchanged all the time when it comes to monster contracts and small town aldermen. It's only the rich bastards who are paying him to spy on, steal from, or kill another human that semi-reliably pay what was agreed promptly and in full. Probably because they know he might kill them if they don't settle the bill. Not that that has stopped some from trying. 

Only this time the bag was heavier than it should be. Not lighter. For the first time in his entire life he was overpaid. By a hundred crowns.

What the fuck.

Of course, he tried to give back the difference. This town has been nice to him so far and, more importantly, Jaskier is here. He doesn't want to be run out on an accusation of theft when he didn't even set out to steal anything. But the alderman denied his attempts to return the coins and insisted he keep the full bag. Aiden stopped trying and accepted the extra coin when the man started smelling the barest bit panicked about it , for some reason.

Aiden can hear Jaskier singing faintly in the distance. He must not have made it back from the market after all. He starts walking in his direction.

He looks to the side and accidently locks eyes with a mother walking with her small child. She smiles at him and waves. His dual swords, so iconic to witchers, are clearly visible on his back. He hesitantly waves back.

What the actual fuck is going on with this town? His interactions with Mura and the people in the tavern last night were odd enough, but that could maybe be explained away by Jaskier being there and the fact that he wasn't exactly advertising that he was a witcher in the usual way after he came down from his bath without his armor or his swords and that the tavern wasn't exactly the most well lit room. But he's alone now and in all his gear in broad daylight and he hasn't caught anyone so much as sneering at him today.

When he steps into the market square and a child that Jaskier seems to be playing a cheery upbeat song for specifically spots him and practically screeches in delight instead of fear, Aiden genuinely starts to consider looking for cursed relics or perhaps mages with exceedingly strange hobbies in the area.

A child hasn't been delighted to see him since his School was still accepting new candidates and he had little kittens to impress with stories of his time on the Path. It's been decades since it was decided that expanding the Caravan as they had been was too dangerous for their continued survival in the current social climate.

He freezes in place when the child starts running toward him. It's been so long since he's been the victim of a child sprinting full tilt at him in a situation that doesn't also involve a monster barreling after them that he's terrified he'll just pick them up and start running. Or maybe throw them. The little kittens had enjoyed that,^[10] but, notably, they were not small, non-witcher candidate human children in a public market square in the middle of the afternoon with their parents most likely watching.

Of course, because he doesn't move, the child slams into him. 

Completely unphased by running face first into what might as well be the living, breathing equivalent of a marble statue, they plaster themselves against him and look up at him with their big eyes.

"Up? Mister Witcher, pick me up? Mister Jaskier said you were really really strong," they say in their tiny high pitched voice. Aiden doesn't move. He doesn't know how to process what's happening to him right now. 

Undeterred by his lack of response, the child starts climbing him. It's at this point he realizes that very small hands are very close to a lot of knives and promptly decides that maybe picking them up himself might be the lesser evil here.

Sweet merciful goddess, why does he carry so many knives?

He can hear Jaskier laughing at him. Like this is funny. He glares at him around the excitedly babbling child in his arms and starts looking around desperately for whoever this child's parents are before he can start being accused of kidnapping. He finds a young woman who looks enough like them he thinks they might be their mother. She has one hand clapped over her mouth and the other wrapped around her belly. Aiden comes to the startling realization that she is also laughing at him. Not screaming, not crying, not frantically trying to retrieve her child from the strange witcher holding them hostage, but laughing at him . He glances around again and finally notices that no one in the square looks concerned that he has this child in his arms. Most of them are grinning at him mirthfully or giggling behind their hands if they're looking his way at all.

What the actual bleeding fuck.

This town is turning out to be one of the strangest he's ever visited and he doesn't even have Lambert here to commiserate with.

He stares at the mother helplessly and absently bounces the child in his arms. They giggle and squeal and cling onto the edges of his armor. Aiden can't smell a hint of fear on them. He hasn't been able to smell fear on anyone in this town, save for maybe the alderman, there near the end, and that wasn't even really directed at him. Maybe this town is cursed.

"I'm so sorry," the woman says apologetically through the last of her giggles, "Ara doesn't usually climb people like that. They're usually aware that they're a little heavy for most people to support unexpectedly. They're just excited to meet a witcher, you understand, and Jaskier has been singing your praises to everyone who will listen." She holds her arms out. "I'll take them back, if you don't want to hold them anymore."

Aiden hands the squirming child back to their mother. He doesn't expect it to leave him feeling so cold.

"It's okay," he says, grinning around the sudden hollowness inside him. "No harm done."

"Well, thank you anyways. You probably made their day by being here and holding them. I bet I'll be hearing about this encounter many times over the next few days," she says, staring fondly down at the child on her hip. The child, Ara, he thinks, is staring at him across the gap he's put between them. He decides to risk aiming a small smile at them. They beam back at him. Their mother's smile widens and she turns back to him, extending her hand. "I'm Estra, by the way."

He takes her hand in a shake. "Aiden," he says. He hesitates, just for a second, "of the Cats."

"Well met, Aiden of the Cats," she says, "and thank you for taking care of our drowner problem, assuming that's what you're here for."

"Well met, Estra. Yes. You're welcome, of course," he says, defaulting slightly awkwardly to what little etiquette he knows, off-balanced by yet another person treating him with unearned kindness and still half stuck on the idea of his presence making anyone's day other than maybe Lambert or his Clowder, let alone an unfamiliar child , "it wasn't too difficult for me to take care of."

"And yet they might have killed one of our own," Estra says meaningfully, like that has ever mattered when considering the value of his work, when considering his value. She sighs. "Unfortunately, we have to get going. It's time for this little one," she suddenly tickles Ara's belly, the child bursting out into giggles, "to eat lunch. I'll see you around, Aiden of the Cats, if you're planning to stay for the festival."

"Oh, alright," he says numbly to the retreating woman. Ara stares at him over their mother's shoulder. Aiden offers them a small wave and they hide their face in Estra's neck and wave back with their tiny little fingers. "Yeah, I'll see you around, I guess."

Jaskier materializes in the corner of his eye and he turns to look at him. The bard is practically vibrating and grinning so wide Aiden's own cheeks start to hurt. "That went well!" he exclaims, bouncing in place. "Ara loved you, Aiden."

Aiden grabs his arm and pulls him in. "Jaskier," he hisses, glancing around the square at the people who aren't staring at him in deep suspicion, "what the fuck is going on with this town. Why are they all," he gestures helplessly, keeping his hands close to his chest but still hoping to encompass every odd thing that's happened over the past twenty-four hours, "like that."

Jaskier looks at him like he doesn't understand what he's talking about. Aiden doesn't understand what he's missing here. "Like what?"

"Nice!" he hisses back. "Not suspicious of me! Not scared! Why are they so comfortable with me being around?"

Jaskier's scent tints with deep sadness, but he huffs a laugh anyways. "Oh! We're just pretty close to Lettenhove here, that's all. It's only about a day's travel away on foot," he says. Jaskier grins like they're sharing an inside joke, only Aiden doesn't know the context. "I've heard that the Viscount de Lettenhove loves witchers, and the people here trust him enough to put stock in his opinion."

Aiden stares at him. "That's it?" That can't be it.

Jaskier hums an affirmative. "That's it."

Aiden squints at him. "And you're sure there isn't a curse or something involved here."

Jaskier cups his jaw and fits a serious look onto his face. "Yes, Aiden, I'm absolutely sure that there's no curse, or mage, or anything else at work here. And it's not a trap, either. I've visited this town many times over the years and I guarantee that these people's opinions formed organically. They really do just like witchers here. Really."

Aiden doesn't want to believe it. It's too simple, too mundane of an explanation for such a drastic departure from what he's come to expect from humans. But Jaskier seems convinced that it's true.

"Okay," he says eventually. He resolves to remain prepared for everyone to turn on him, just in case, but he'll try to relax, just a little. For Jaskier. "Did you find a new journal?" he asks, changing the subject.

Jaskier beams at him and Aiden decides dropping the argument was the only correct decision. "I did," he says. "I also got something for you!" He grabs Aiden's wrist and Aiden obediently lets himself be pulled back to where he left his lute case and a brown paper bag.

When they get close, Jaskier places his lute back in its case, snaps it shut, and pulls the instrument over his shoulder. He scoops up the paper bag and pops back up, pulling out a round golden cake half wrapped in paper and offering it to Aiden. "Here! It's a honey cake! The ones made by the local bakery are amazing and I knew you would be hungry after your hunt, so I got you a treat."

Aiden blinks. "Oh, thank you. You didn't have to," he says, accepting the treat and removing the wrapping. He doesn't often buy treats like this for himself, usually only if he can steal it at some noble's estate, but if the coin is already spent, the coin is already spent. He won't waste time arguing with Jaskier about what he wants to spend his own coin on. And the little cake does look and smell delicious.

"I wanted to," Jaskier says. It makes warmth bloom in Aiden's chest.

He takes a bite, honey already coating his fingertips where they hold the cake. It tastes delicious too, sticky sweet from honey the cake was soaked in but with freshness cutting through from the strawberry preserves sandwiched in the middle. He closes his eyes in pleasure and stifles the purr that wants to start in his chest. He hums instead.

"'S good," he says when he opens his eyes again, since Jaskier looks so eager to hear his opinion. Jaskier beams at his answer. Aiden looks down at his treat in consideration and tears a chunk off. He offers it to Jaskier.

Jaskier grabs his wrist and leans forward to take the treat into his mouth directly from his honey-coated fingers. He hums in pleasure as he retreats. Aiden swallows around nothing. He kind of wants to feed him forever.

Footnotes:

¹⁰Aiden remembers enjoying it, when he himself was a little kitten. He remembers Cedric and Axel, who were always his favorite pair of older siblings, returning from a year out on the Path. He remembers running up to them, screeching with excitement that they were back. He remembers them picking him up and just tossing him in whatever direction seemed safest. Cedric usually tossed him straight up in the air or into a pile of leaves. Axel usually tossed him at Cedric if he could, forcing them to scramble to catch him. It was fun. He misses it. Having his siblings toss him around now just isn't the same.^{[return to text]}

Chapter Text

"So, Aiden," Jaskier starts from behind him.

Aiden hums an acknowledgement from his place in the bathwater. Jaskier had insisted he take another bath after going out on his hunt, nevermind that he returned unusually clean. Jaskier also insisted on helping with his bath. Not that he had to do very much insisting at all.

It's nice to be pampered, he's finding. He doesn't know how Pretty Boy still manages to be as pissy as he's heard all the time if he has access to Jaskier's damn near magic fingers for so much of the year. It has to be the Wolf-typical emotional repression, right? He can't properly express how much he likes it when Jaskier kneads the stiffness out of his shoulders and scratches at his scalp and runs his hands through his hair so it builds up and comes out by making him act like someone pissed in his soup the rest of the time. It's gotta be that.

Lambert always got so angry whenever Aiden tried to be nice to him at first. He would snarl and growl instead of just saying that he liked it when Aiden massaged the stiffness out of his muscles or dressed his wounds or cooked him dinner.^[11] And he'd always spend the next day in such a mood about it, like he had to make up for the vulnerability somehow. He's glad they're over that stage. He likes being nice to his Wolf. 

Even if it was terribly cute how he would gruffly shove a handful of potions at him after a streak of good meals, muttering that he only made them because couldn’t trust Aiden to do a good enough job with it and he was restocking his own supply anyways. His Wolf really is so sweet to him.

"You never told me how your hunt went. Did the alderman end up shorting you?" Jaskier asks, continuing to run his fingers through his hair. Aiden is willing to answer any question he might have as long as he doesn't stop.

"Hunt went well," he gets out past the pleasured haze that's taken over his mind and the deep rumbling purr that's made its home in his chest. His brow furrows for a moment when he thinks about the alderman. "The alderman was weird though."

"Oh?" Jaskier asks in a tone Aiden is vaguely aware that he should find odd, coming from him. It's dangerous. Soft but sharp, like silk over a blade. Like the still of the ocean where the rip current lies. Then Jaskier's fingers pause in his hair and Aiden forgets all about the tone of his voice in favor of voicing his displeasure. He whines. They start back up again. "How was he weird?" The odd tone is gone, the words gentled. 

"He overpaid me," Aiden says. "That's never happened before."

"By how much?" Jaskier asks. He doesn't sound surprised like Aiden expects him to be. He wonders if Geralt ever gets overpaid when Jaskier is there to soften the town to him. He must, at least sometimes, for Jaskier to sound almost like he expected Aiden to be overpaid.

"A hundred crowns," Aiden answers. Geralt is an even luckier bastard than he thought if that's not unusual for him. "Wouldn't let me give any of it back."

Jaskier hums, sounding pleased, and scratches above his ear. Aiden likes the sound of his voice. It's pretty. He kind of wants to drown in it. 

Fingers in his hair pull his head back, preventing him from slipping off the edge of the tub and under the water. He hadn't realized he was relaxed enough to sink like that.

"That's good, isn't it?" Jaskier asks. "Maybe you can afford to get your gear repaired with that."

"Maybe," he says, trying to think through the numbers. "Me, probably. I dunno about Lamb though. We always get overcharged. It's hard to guess if we'll have enough, sometimes."

"Lamb?" Jaskier asks lightly.

"Lambert," Aiden clarifies, vaguely gesturing. "Wolf. My lover. You know. Geralt must have told you about him. They're brothers."

"Oh," Jaskier says, "of course. Lambert. Geralt's brother." It sounds wrong to Aiden, somehow. Hollow. Upset. Sad. His brow furrows. He can't smell much from Jaskier over the orange blossom and lavender from the bath, but he doesn't want him to be upset or sad. What were they talking about that could have made him feel that way? Geralt, maybe? Something to do with Geralt upset him yesterday, too, didn't it? If Geralt isn't cherishing him properly Aiden will–

He forgets about it in the next second when gentle hands pull his head back just far enough for soft lips to kiss his forehead.

"Thank you, kitten," Jaskier says quietly. Aiden sinks back into the pleasure-soaked haze and stops thinking altogether.

Aiden isn't surprised when Jaskier comes back to their table with lunch for the two of them and drags a chair so close to him he's practically sitting in his lap despite them technically being in different seats.

It's exactly what he had done at dinner the night before. Aiden is starting to accept that he's just like that and, impossibility, this town is tolerant enough that no one will bat an eye at it. He suspects Jaskier only sat so far from him at breakfast because he'd come back from retrieving their food and chatting with Mura to find Aiden with his head on the table, mourning the loss of the sweet bliss of sleep.

He would complain about the inconvenience of having to maneuver around the body pressed up against his side while eating, but it's really not that inconvenient.^[12] There's also the fact that he likes that Jaskier presses up so close to him. For him to do so in such a public place seems like a claim, like Jaskier wants everyone to know that they're here together, whatever that means for them. The thought makes him want to sit up and purr.

"So I was thinking," Jaskier says as he settles in, pushing both bowls of thick stew and a loaf of bread in front of Aiden, "and there's a leatherworker in town that should be able to repair your armor. We can go see them today and I'll make sure you aren't overcharged. Unfortunately there isn't anyone who can resilver your sword, but I can give you some recommendations for shops around this area or ones I've been to with Geralt that haven't been too prejudiced. And tomorrow we can go and see if we can get you some work at the festival so you can save up some more coin for it. Maybe talk to the alderman again or some of the townsfolk, someone is sure to have some work that would benefit from someone with witcher strength. How's that sound?"

Aiden blinks and looks up from examining both bowls of food. He didn't have much of a plan for the rest of his stay here himself, besides maybe stay and bask in the sunshine of Jaskier's presence until he has to break off to meet back up with Lambert. Though this would be a good time to turn his armor over for repair. He's already taken care of the one monster contract in this town and if the townspeople's strange behavior extends to the local leatherworker there's a chance he might not be hideously overcharged for once, especially if Jaskier is there with him.

"It sounds like a plan." He doesn't know how much more coin the alderman would be willing to give him, but he's willing to accept a low number. He might do whatever it is for free, even, if they ask it of him.

It feels a little wrong to ask for much when he's already been overpaid for the work he did, but he has Lambert to think about. He's not in the position to be denying payment like that when they're both in desperate need of having their gear repaired. If the alderman is somehow willing to put more coin in his pockets then he won't say no, not when there hasn't been repercussions for accepting his coin so far.

Aiden looks back down at the plates of food and pauses, blinks. "Why did you put both bowls in front of me?" he asks.

Jaskier smiles and pulls his plate back in front of him. "I saw you checking the food last night and you looked frustrated this morning when you looked up and saw I was already eating at breakfast. I thought you might want to check our lunches. Was I wrong?"

He's not wrong, but Aiden didn't expect him to notice that, let alone act on the observation like this. If anything he might have expected him to guard his plate from him to keep him from picking at it. "No, you're not wrong." Aiden is very aware of the list of things a witcher can eat and enjoy that could kill a human.

Jaskier knocks their shoulders together. "Thank you," he says, "that's very thoughtful of you. And I do prefer to have my food witcher-cleared when I can anyways." He picks up his spoon to start eating. "This passes the test, right?"

"Yes," he says. "It's safe to eat."

Jaskier starts eating immediately. He doesn't spare a moment to consider Aiden lying to him or slipping something in himself and Aiden is struck with the sudden certainty that if anyone ever did dare to try to poison Jaskier, he would force feed them one of his witcher potions. They would die screaming in agony, writhing in a puddle of their own vomit and waste at his feet. He wouldn't regret it. They wouldn't deserve anything better. They might deserve worse.

"Frankly, I can't believe you've been walking around in this patchwork travesty and lived long enough to come see me," Vani, this town's leatherworker, says, as she comes back around in front of him. "I think this chestpiece is being held together by hopes, dreams, and literal threads." She pokes at one of his shoddier patch-jobs. She looks genuinely concerned by the state of his armor, frowning at the wear and tear and fraying thread. Like Jaskier did this morning. Like no other human besides Jaskier ever has. 

Maybe he should just expect it by now, the people in this town treating him kindly, like he's a person instead of a witcher . He can't. It's too good to be true. And even if it's not, he can't leave here expecting anywhere else to treat him like this.

Aiden almost wishes that someone would spit at him, or throw a rock or rotten vegetable at him, or hurl insults at his back, or scream, or cower, or something . At least that would be normal. At least he would know how to handle that. This level of not just an absence of hatred but of kindness leaves him feeling like he's missed a foothold where he was sure one existed, even as he tries to mentally prepare himself for it.

"I know," Jaskier says, stepping up to her shoulder, "it's in such a sorry state, isn't it? I can only be thankful that something terrible hasn't happened yet. Do you think you can repair it?"

Vani squints at the damage again and pokes at another one of his patches. Aiden fights the urge to squirm or reach for a knife. He focuses on making sure his polite, charmingly chastised smile doesn't slip instead. "I could repair everything. But with this amount of damage it would be quicker and cheaper to just throw this in the scrap pile and make a new set from scratch. Does this set of armor have sentimental value to you, witcher?"

"No," he says, mildly surprised at the consideration. Aiden doesn't think anyone has ever asked him if something had sentimental value to him. "It's just a set of armor. One of many I've worn."

"We'll make you a whole new set then," she says, nodding. Aiden internally cringes at the price he's estimating for a full set of armor. But she's right, a brand new set would be better. If the leather is new, it shouldn't need to be repaired again as quickly and should be able to withstand more than a set with older pieces mixed in. "Do you need to keep this set? For the leather or anything else? If you don't, I'm willing to knock the price down a bit in exchange for it."

He could take his current set of armor apart and cannibalize it to make some smaller accessories, but he's not the best at leatherwork–he really only knows enough to slap a patch on and have it last long enough he doesn't die the very next time he gets hit–and hauling around all that material until he next sees one of his Schoolmates who are a decent hand at it isn't his idea of fun. He doubts there's all that much material left that would be of much use to him, anyways, and he should save his coin where he can.

"I don't need it," he says. He doesn't know what she wants with it. The leather doesn't seem good enough to turn into anything she could sell. "I’d be happy to surrender it to such a lovely lady as you,” he says with a wink and a grin. “Especially with such a generous offer on the table. Though, what do you plan to do with it, if I may ask?"

Vani, for her part, seems entirely unaffected by his attempts at being charming. "I'll use it to train my nephew and apprentice, Cazan. Have him take it apart and determine which parts can be placed in the scrap pile to be used somewhere else and which are too badly damaged to go into another piece as they are." She runs her fingers over one of the places where the leather has gone fragile. "And these fragile areas will be useful for teaching him how to restore leather. You can't always just reinforce the area with a patch."

Aiden feels almost like that last part was a dig at him, though he couldn't prove it if asked. Still, that's a very resourceful use of his old, battered armor and he's happy to see it go somewhere other than the garbage. As much as he doesn't have any specific feelings tied to this set, it's served him well enough and a lifetime of alternating between living communally and contract-to-contract makes his teeth itch at the thought of just throwing away any leather that could still be used in some way. It's pleasing to know that Vani will be able to get more use out of it than he would for keeping it.

"Oh, Cazan! He finally committed to leatherwork?" Jaskier says, and Aiden suddenly remembers Jaskier saying he's visited this town in the past. "It took him long enough. I remember when he would follow you around like a little duckling, asking all sorts of questions and dumping the information on anyone who would listen afterwards." He looks around the shop. "Where is he? I haven't seen him around."

Vani smiles fondly. "The lad went to the coast to go visit his parents. He's old enough now to go by himself and he's worked hard to deserve the break. Learned a lot, too. He doesn't know yet so I better not hear you two blabbing about this," she gives the both of them a stern look. Aiden nods in acceptance of the request. Jaskier already looks excited by whatever it is she's going to say but agrees to keep the secret, "but I plan to gift him his first maker's mark when he comes back. I've already submitted some of his designs to the blacksmith."

Jaskier squeals and grabs Vani's arm. He tries to shake her in excitement but mainly ends up shaking himself as the woman barely shifts at all. "His first maker's mark, Vani? That's so exciting! He'll love it, I'm sure."

"He's earned it," she says, obviously proud of her nephew.

"I bet he has!" Jaskier says. He gets a wistful look on his face. "I remember when my childhood music teacher gifted me my first lute. I still have it, you know. It's hung up in my room back home. I think Cazan will keep this maker's mark too, even after he inevitably redesigns it."

"I still have the one my master gave me in a drawer somewhere around here, so I would hope so," Vani says. She turns back to Aiden. "But back to business. I've already got some designs I can alter to your measurements and I don't have many time-sensitive projects right now, so I can likely have something ready by… let's say the afternoon after the festival?"

"That works," Aiden says. He reaches for his coinpurse and braces himself. "How much do I owe you?"

Vani names a price that is, frankly, far lower than Aiden had expected, even with surrendering his current set of armor. He's half a second from agreeing and starting to dig out the coins when Jaskier cuts in to haggle , of all things. Aiden gapes at him, stunned that he's trying to get an even better deal than he's already been offered. He's even more surprised when Vani actually engages him.

In the end, they settle on a price Jaskier seems happy with along with an agreement that Aiden will keep his armor until the new set is ready. Vani also only asks him to pay half up front, which is shocking in and of itself. He's always been asked to pay the entire tab upfront.

"Alright, witcher," Vani says after he's handed over the coins, "armor off then. We'll get your measurements and I'll take another look at the pieces and make any notes I need concerning the design."

Footnotes:

¹¹Though really, cooking for him was less of a kindness directed at Lambert and more of a kindness for both of them. Lambert, for as competent and wonderful as Aiden thinks he is, really is an undeniably terrible cook. Frankly, Aiden is shocked that he hasn’t managed to poison himself yet and thanks whichever gods watch over fools and witchers that an increased tolerance for toxins is included in the mutations or else he probably would have lost Lambert to a bit of overcooked and underseasoned rabbit or some truly godsawful stew years ago. He’s lucky he didn’t lose him to Spence back when he first introduced him to his Clowder and Lambert said something terribly stupid about the usefulness of spices in cooking in front of him.^{[return to text]}

¹²Not compared to some of the situations he's found himself taking his meals in with the Caravan. It might be a little difficult not to elbow each other while sitting so close at the table, but it's nothing compared to trying to both keep ahold of his meal and not fall off the tree branch his Schoolmates so graciously decided to follow him out onto. He loves them to death but sometimes he wishes they would at maybe stop trying to climb into his lap when they think he's gotten too melancholy when his position is already precarious enough.^{[return to text]}

Chapter Text

If Lambert asked him, Aiden would never admit that he's curled up like this–on the bed in Jaskier’s room with his back to the wall and one of his favorite daggers in his hand–because he's feeling just slightly vulnerable after submitting to his armor fitting and allowing Vani to poke and prod him unarmored. It's too much like something Lambert would do and he'd never hear the end of it.

Of course, because Aiden is in possession of a scrap of emotional intelligence (unlike certain Wolves he could name), he does know that certain feelings of vulnerability may have something to do with it, probably exacerbated by just how off balance this town has been making him feel. He just wouldn't admit that out loud. As far as anyone else needs to be aware, he's in this position purely because it's comfortable and not at all because it puts a wall to his back and lets him see the door whenever he opens his eyes.

It also lets him watch Jaskier as he works on… whatever it is he’s working on. A new song, definitely, but Aiden hasn’t been paying enough attention to the snatches of lyrics he’s caught to work out what it’s for, preferring instead to simply let the sounds of Jaskier working wash over him in between listening for any suspicious sounding noise from outside the room for the most part. What he has caught makes him think it might be something about him, but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up.

Whatever it is, it’s obviously giving him some trouble given that he stood up with a huff and a bitten off curse and started pacing the floor what Aiden thinks might have been thirty minutes ago.

Jaskier had started at the desk, scribbling furiously in the new journal he bought. Aiden doesn't know what, exactly, he was writing in it, but he doesn't think it was song lyrics given that after half an hour he had snapped the book closed and returned it to his pack just to retrieve a second, significantly more worn journal in a different color. It was only after he grabbed the second journal that he started humming and tapping his fingers and mumbling lyrics under his breath.

Jaskier is so very pretty, he thinks, not for the first time. It's far from a hardship to watch him like this. He could stare and stare and stare at him. He's surprised Jaskier hasn't asked him to stop yet. Humans, in his experience, don't enjoy, well, anyone really but especially witchers staring at them. They think his eyes are creepy and strange and it scares them, makes them uncomfortable. Especially when he’s holding a weapon. But Jaskier only ever smiles at him when he looks up and catches Aiden’s eyes on him and uses the opportunity to ask how he feels about a particular bit of lyric or melody or if he has a good word to rhyme with dash.

Aiden runs his nails over the rope-braided wire coiled tightly around the handle of his still-sheathed dagger and tries to focus on just breathing.^[13] Jaskier is making him feel restless just watching him, but he's not in the mood to run and he already took care of the local monster problem and there's no one around to fight or spar with and he doesn’t want to close his eyes and meditate. There’s nothing to do but his skin is starting to feel too tight.

Jaskier lets out a strangled scream and curses. Aiden wonders if songwriting is this difficult all the time. He hopes it's not, for Jaskier's sake, but he has to admit that he makes a very pretty picture like this, mussed hair and open doublet and frustration. It's a good look on him.

Well, there is one thing that Aiden might find himself in the mood for that could dissipate the frustrated, restless energy in the room. Might even help Jaskier get over whatever kind of issue he’s encountered.

Aiden tosses his dagger onto the side table to get it out of the way and uncurls into a languid stretch, doing nothing to muffle the deep groan that spills from his lips as his back arches off the bed and he feels his muscles loosen. He settles back down and angles his body toward Jaskier, bending one knee up to plant his foot on the bed and spray his legs apart. He throws one arm up over his head and rests the other low on his stomach, thumb hooked into the waistband of his trousers and fingers coming to rest in the dip where his thigh meets his hips. It's quite artful, if he says so himself. The kind of pose that would and has sent Lambert scrambling across a room, one hand already at the ties to his trousers.

Through half-lidded eyes he sees Jaskier stop in his pacing to stare at him. Arousal spikes sharply in the air and a lazy smirk slides onto Aiden's face, showing off his teeth.

"You know, if you're feeling frustrated," he starts, letting the contented rumble in his chest turn the words themselves into their own kind of purr, "I've heard humans say that petting Cats is good for stress relief."

Jaskier sucks in a breath and swallows but otherwise doesn't move for a long moment. Aiden shifts the hand he's got hooked into his trousers down, pulling the fabric down and exposing the top of his hipbone. Jaskier's eyes snap to the movement. The scent of arousal and lust spikes again.

Aiden wonders if Jaskier would prefer top or bottom. The position he's put himself into is fairly versatile. It would be easy enough for Jaskier to straddle his hips or settle between his legs, whichever he wants. And he's left enough space beside himself that he would be able to flip them over without rolling the both of them off the bed and onto the floor if Jaskier would rather that Aiden be in charge either way.

Jaskier lets out a shaky breath and shuts his eyes. When he opens them again there's determination there and he strides toward the bed. Aiden feels anticipation thrill down his spine.

Admittedly, he's a little confused when Jaskier sits on the bed next to him instead of settling on top of him. His smirk fades on the corners. Maybe he does want Aiden to take charge here? But he hasn't settled in a position that would make it easy for him to pull Aiden on top of him.

Jaskier's hand lands in his hair. Aiden blinks up at him.

Aiden waits for–he doesn't know what, really. For Jaskier's grip to turn harsh and force his head back to expose his throat? To be pulled up into a gentle kiss? To be urged up off the bed and onto his knees in front of him? To be encouraged to roll onto his stomach? He doesn't know what type of things Jaskier is into.

Aiden waits, but none of those things happen. Instead, Jaskier just pets through his hair. He can still smell Jaskier's arousal, but he’s not doing anything about it. Internally shrugging, Aiden tamps down on his own building arousal and rearranges himself so he can curl his body around Jaskier possessively, resting his head on his leg and hugging his thigh. He thinks he was clear enough about the intentions behind his offer, but he isn't opposed to engaging in other types of intimacy instead. And the more literal petting he's receiving is nice. If Jaskier doesn't want to take a tumble with him right now he won't argue it. 

Aiden finds that he's quite satisfied with how this turned out, actually, even if it isn't what he had in mind. Jaskier isn't pacing restlessly anymore and he stands by his earlier thought that Jaskier has magic fingers. They stroke through his hair and scratch at his scalp and overall make Aiden feel like his bones have turned to jelly. His other hand is a comforting weight on his neck, fingers curling into the soft hair at his nape and pressing into the skin at the back of his neck in a way that makes him feel like he could melt into a puddle of a witcher.

Jaskier hums a mindless tune, the same few notes over and over, and the white noise of it makes Aiden want to fall asleep right here.

The humming slows to a halt. "Will you tell me about your Wolf?" Jaskier asks, pulling him out of the light doze he slipped into.

"Hm? You want to hear about Lamb?" Aiden yawns and shakes his head to dislodge the sleepy haze from his head so he can piece together some coherent thoughts. Unfortunately that also dislodges Jaskier's hands from his head and while that may make the whole having coherent thoughts thing easier he still doesn't like it. He lets out a displeased sound but uses the opportunity to roll over onto his back to look up at Jaskier. It's a bit awkward, there isn’t quite enough space for him to stretch out like this, but he makes it work. "Was there something specific you wanted to know?"

"Oh, anything. Everything. I want to know all about him! Anything you want to tell me," Jaskier says. He moves his hands a lot when he speaks, Aiden thinks absently, eyes tracking their movement through the air.

Aiden hums in thought. Anything, huh? There's a lot he could say about Lamb, but he doubts Jaskier is looking to hear about how damn pretty he looks cast in firelight or what kind of pretty noises he makes in bed or what it feels like to be tucked safely in the circle of his arms.^[14] "What's Geralt told you about him already?"

"Oh, not much!" Jaskier says, waving a hand carelessly. His smile looks hastily pasted on. "Practically nothing at all, you might say."

Aiden frowns. Practically nothing? He knows Lambert and Geralt aren't each other's favorite people but they're still brothers, they still love each other. He knows Lambert at least admires Geralt for the kind of person he is. He certainly doesn’t talk about his fellow Wolves often, but he does talk about them. And Jaskier has traveled with Geralt for most of the last decade if he's heard correctly, that's plenty of time for him to share some details and stories, no matter how talkative he tends to be. 

The memory of his last bath surfaces in his mind. He remembers Jaskier sounding odd when he mentioned Lambert offhand. Upset, almost, when nothing Aiden said should have upset him. He only brought up Lambert's godsdamn name and School after all. Completely innocent information that shouldn't have been a surprise to Jaskier. "...But he has mentioned him though, right?"

Jaskier purses his lips. "Geralt has never been the best at opening up…"

Aiden gapes at him, half in shock and half in offense on Lambert's behalf. He sits up and turns so he can look at Jaskier. Frankly, he can't imagine traveling with him for so long and never so much as mentioning his Schoolmates. After so long he surely would have said something about all the ones still living, at the least. Hell, he would have just invited him back to the Caravan to meet them himself after long enough. 

"What about Eskel?" he asks. Geralt actively likes Eskel, of that he's certain. Lambert is convinced that they’re each other’s favorite brothers. Even if that's changed somehow since this winter, that doesn't change all the time before now that he's liked him.

Not a single hint of recognition makes its way into Jaskier's eyes. "Eskel?"

"Vesemir?" he tries. Gods, there’s only four living Wolves, including Geralt. He has to have mentioned one of them.

Jaskier just looks more confused. He shakes his head. Aiden bites back a growl.

So Geralt hasn't mentioned any of his living family. At least not by name. Aiden could understand not talking about those he's lost–gods, does he know that can be painful –but the ones who are still holding on? It doesn't seem right to him. 

"Did he say anything at all about his family?" Aiden is willing to hold out hope that he might not have used names in an attempt to protect their privacy or to prevent information from being used against them. There's a certain measure of safety to be had in anonymity and he can understand the urge to protect one’s family. He can't work out why the fuck Geralt would feel the need to do that with his bard of all people–Aiden has only known Jaskier for a day and he already trusts him far more than any other human–but maybe it's an ingrained habit. Information like that is easily lost in friendships as long as theirs and the Wolf Pack is small enough these days that, with enough knowledge of them, it would be easy enough to work out who a story was about.

Gods help him, he is trying to be charitable here. Geralt had better deserve it.

Jaskier smiles tentatively. "He mentioned that he winters in a ruin of a keep in the mountains of Kaedwen? He assured me he wasn't there alone after some pestering, at least." 

Geralt doesn't fucking deserve it.

The thing is that Aiden wants to like Geralt. He really does, if only because it would make things easier on Lambert. He's indescribably jealous of him because he gets to hog Jaskier for almost the entire year and never brings him around any other witchers, not even his own brothers. And he's admittedly not got the highest opinion of him just based on the fact that he has a thing against Cats. And he kind of definitely wants to pull some pranks on him with Lambert once he's finally invited to Kaer Morhen. But he doesn't dislike him and he's not looking to start.

If anyone could convince him to like Geralt he would think it would be Jaskier. But every new thing he hears about Geralt from Jaskier just makes him want to stab him somewhere painful, even if that's clearly not the outcome Jaskier is shooting for. 

Lambert has said that Geralt, in the rare times he does talk about Jaskier, talks about him like he's fond of him. Jaskier himself insists that they're best friends. Everything Aiden knew about the two prior to meeting Jaskier points to them being good friends. It doesn't make sense for them not to be. Yet half the details Jaskier shares about Geralt make it sound like the Wolf doesn't actually like him. Or, at the very least, isn't appropriately appreciative of him and his friendship. Aiden hopes it's just because he's missing vital pieces to this puzzle or he is going to develop a thing against Geralt .

Aiden remembers something. He has a terrible, terrible thought. "Jaskier," he says with a calm gentleness he doesn't feel but that Jaskier deserves nonetheless, "why are you here and not with Geralt right now?"

Jaskier looks confused. "Oh," he starts easily enough, "You know, I was planning to bring Geralt here with me this year, but he had a commitment in another town." He rolls his eyes and huffs. "Why he didn't tell me he had a meeting to get to sooner , I don't know. He knows I usually plan a circuit of festivals to play at this time of year. I would have just gone with him–I could have still made my next festival with plenty of time and I always could have swung back around this way later, my business in Lettenhove wasn’t anything that couldn’t have waited a few more weeks–but," he shrugs, "by the time he brought it up, I had already written here and agreed to play this festival weeks before since I was already going to be in the area. I wasn't about to back out and disappoint the people of this lovely town, so we parted ways.” Jaskier’s mouth twists bitterly in a way that Aiden does not like at all. “Besides, Geralt is probably just following the whims of that new witch of his. He doesn’t need me there. We'll meet up again in a couple weeks." He squints at him. "Why?"

Okay. That doesn't seem as terrible as what Aiden had been thinking Geralt might have done, so maybe there's still hope for him. It's still not a fantastic look, but it could be worse. Probably. Also, Geralt has a witch that Jaskier expects him to want to meet alone? What? Is he out of his mind? "Did he say that he was meeting up with some witch?" he asks, ignoring the question.

"No," Jaskier says, still squinting at him, "he just said he had a meeting he couldn't get out of lest he face terrible consequences or something. I assumed he was meeting that awful witch of his. Why?" He leans in toward Aiden. "Do you know something about it?"

Aiden hums an answer, directing his eyes to the wall behind Jaskier. He does know something about it, quite a lot actually. Lambert practically talked his ear off about it. He just doesn't know the best way to share that information, or if he should share at all.

On the one hand, he's indignant on Lambert's behalf that Geralt has never mentioned him and then further didn't give Jaskier all the information about the meeting Lambert worked so hard to get set up so he could at least decide if he wanted to meet him. On the other hand, what Geralt does or does not tell Jaskier is really none of his business, and inserting himself here could fuck up his future attempts to make nice with Lambert's family. And it’s not like he has any proof that Geralt did anything on purpose, it easily could have been an honest mistake that he intends to rectify. Lambert and Geralt could be working out another time to meet up when Jaskier won’t have prior commitments as they speak.

"Aiden? Do you know something?" Jaskier asks again suspiciously.

Aiden looks into Jaskier's eyes. He cracks immediately. He’s already let too much slip anyways, been too suspicious. Jaskier could probably already figure it out if he just thought about it for a minute. And who knows what might happen if Jaskier sees Geralt again with nothing but a handful of assumptions and an accusation.

"I… might. Maybe." he hedges. "But, listen, you didn't hear it from me, okay?" He grabs Jaskier's hands and stares into his eyes to let him know he's serious. He doesn't want to imagine what it would do to his progress with Lambert if Geralt came home this winter raging about Aiden spilling his secrets to his bard, even if Aiden himself really cannot fucking understand why he's keeping these secrets in the first place.

"Okay…?" Jaskier agrees hesitantly, looking startled. "I won't tell anyone you told me."

Aiden smiles at him. "Good. Because Geralt can't know I told you," he says. "He doesn't know that Lambert and I are lovers. I don't think he knows I even exist. And I really don't want to damage any relationship we might have before Lambert feels comfortable enough to introduce me, alright? I’m already fighting an uphill battle here as it is."

Jaskier's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh, you–" he slumps dramatically, "you had me worried for a second there! I thought it might be something terrible." He shoves at him and Aiden allows himself to be moved easily. "But, no! It turns out that you’re just a romantic stuck in one of those terrible romance pamphlets about star-crossed lovers!” He smiles and takes Aiden’s hands again. “Don’t worry. Geralt won't hear anything from me. Officially, we’ll have never met. It'll be our little secret. Cross my heart." He winks and frees one of his hands to trace a cross over his chest with his finger. It's adorable.

Aiden smiles back. "Thank you," he says, bringing Jaskier's other hands to his mouth to scrape his teeth against his knuckles in an affectionate nip followed by a soothing kiss, a thank you and an apology for worrying him all at once. He readies himself to spill another witcher's secrets, but hesitates. "I don't know why Geralt didn't give you any details about what he's likely doing right now or about his family. Are you sure you want to know?"

Jaskier seems to take a moment to actually think it through, which Aiden appreciates. Knowledge can be very heavy indeed and Aiden has watched men break under the weight of the information he's gathered for them at their own behest. And sometimes it's the things that seem like nothing to him that do the most damage. He watched a woman break down crying once upon being told that her husband bought an orange ribbon from a merchant in the town square. "Yes," he decides, "I do. Tell me."

“Well, unless Geralt’s witch,” he says the word with distaste, he doesn’t need to know them personally to dislike them, just their being a mage is enough. And he really didn’t like how bitter Jaskier looked when he mentioned them, “has some truly terrible timing, he was going to see Lambert.”

“What?” Jaskier squawks in (in Aiden’s opinion, entirely justified) offense and outrage. “And he didn’t–That–” He cuts himself with a bitten off curse, and shakes his hands in front of him like he’s imagining shaking Geralt very hard out of frustration. Or perhaps wringing his neck.

Aiden doesn’t really have to share this next part, but, well. He may as well fully commit to telling Jaskier everything. And it gives him a perverse sort of pleasure to see Jaskier get angry at Geralt. And to see him angry on Lambert’s behalf? He’s not a good enough man to turn down that opportunity when it’s already so close.

“Poor Lamby spent the whole winter pestering him to let him meet you, too. He was looking forward to it.” An understatement. Lambert was excited in a way he rarely was. As much as the moment of revealing that Aiden got to meet Jaskier will be fun, it breaks his heart that it has to be at Lambert’s expense. 

“Since winter? And that absolute lummox didn’t –” he stops short, blinks. “Wait. Wait. Lambert was looking forward to meeting me?”

Aiden tilts his head at him and smirks. “No, he was looking forward to seeing his brother, who he had just recently spent several months trapped in a snowed-in keep in the mountains with.” He lightly pushes at Jaskier’s shoulder. “Of course it was you.”

“Oh.” Jaskier sounds genuinely surprised to his ears. Aiden is forced to wonder once again if he really doesn’t understand what he’s done for witchers everywhere. He must, right? “So, if I’m understanding things, Lambert was trying to meet with me and Geralt didn’t feel the need to tell me?” He says, voice rising to a shrill pitch. “Oh, I’m going to–to,” he pauses, searching for an appropriate threat, “play only the least flattering songs about him and buy only raspberry jam for the next month that we’re together. And hide all his hair ties. And I won’t do his hair in the bath.” 

Aiden blinks at him. “You’re going to… buy raspberry jam?”

Jaskier nods curtly. “Geralt hates raspberry jam.” 

“...Okay.” Odd, as far as punishments go. But Aiden can’t deny that it’s a petty one, and one that won’t necessarily tip Geralt off about what, exactly, it is that Jaskier is upset about. Annoying, but subtle enough that he might suspect that Jaskier is upset but not know for sure. He files the information away anyway, just in case.

Jaskier looks away, grumbling under his breath about inconsiderate witchers who wouldn’t know a reasonable expectation of communication if it was big and ugly and mean as a widowed griffin and had its own entry in the bestiary. 

Aiden is about thirty seconds away from asking if he wants to head out and throw knives at a crudely drawn rendition of Geralt’s face pinned to a tree for a while when Jaskier takes a deep breath, lets it all out in a sigh, and pops up off the bed, clapping his hands together once.

“Enough about Geralt! I believe I asked you,” he points the pointer fingers of his still clasped hands at Aiden, “to tell me about Lambert.” He slips over to his pack and picks his new journal back out of it, snatching his stick of charcoal from the desk. He scurries back to the bed and plops back down on it, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged across from him and grinning brightly. “Lay it on me,” he says, opening the journal to a blank page. His smile turns mischievous. “Don’t worry, I promise not to write any songs or publish any romance pamphlets with anything you tell me until after Lambert comes clean about you.”

Aiden snorts, but mirrors his pose, leaning back to fetch his knife back off the side table so he will have something to do with his hands as well. He hums in though. “I guess the best place to start would be with how we met, right?” Jaskier nods enthusiastically. Aiden casts his mind back to what was, in retrospect, probably one of the best days of his life, no matter how much of a clusterfuck it was to live through. “Around twenty or so years ago, I accepted a contract on an ogre…” 

It's easy to get lost in just talking with Jaskier. Aiden barely registers the time passing as he talks. After a while, Jaskier gets up to retrieve a bottle of wine from Mura downstairs. They share the bottle between them, laughing when Aiden tells some of the funnier stories he knows until Jaskier suddenly looks up, glances out the window, and squawks something about not realizing just how late it had gotten, jumping up and scrambling to get ready to play for their dinner downstairs.

As Jaskier frets over his hair in the mirror, Aiden thinks, not for the first time, that he's beautiful. Aiden can almost still hear the echo of his laugh in the air, still taste the wine they shared on his tongue, still feel the buzz of his fingertips against his hands, his arms, his head. He breathes out and feels something coiled up tight in his chest loosen slightly, like he's discovered a new stretch and found some hidden tenseness he'd never been able to access.

Satisfied with the state of his hair, Jaskier goes and picks up his lute where he left it by the desk. He turns and catches Aiden staring after him and smiles like sunshine. "Come on, kitten, you wouldn't want to miss my performance, would you? We're almost late as it is," he teases.

"No," Aiden says, "I wouldn't." 

He'll tell Jaskier about his own Clowder after dinner, he decides. He's told him plenty about the Wolf Pack, but hardly anything about his own Schoolmates. He should fix that.

Footnotes:

¹³He knows better than to keep unsheathed daggers and knives in his bed, he's civilized, no matter what some might say. Dull knives may indeed be more dangerous than sharp ones (and he keeps all of his blades sharp), but that doesn't make the sharp ones safe. That all little kittens learn, Aiden included. It only takes slicing a finger or hand or arm or other bit of exposed skin wide open so many times before even the most stubborn of kittens learn to listen to their elders about keeping their blades sheathed when not in use. And the nightly shakedown before they were allowed to pile up together to sleep before they took that lesson to heart helped too. No one wants to wake up to being accidentally stabbed and the comparatively better alternative of slicing up the bedding isn't great either.^{[return to text]}

¹⁴His Schoolmates have reliably informed him that in fact nobody wants to hear about any of those things. They make sure to tell him every time he starts missing Lambert too much in the winters. But fuck them. They're just being overdramatic about it. If they really couldn't stand hearing about how much he misses Lambert in the winter they'd leave or fight him about it. Which they do, once he's gone on for long enough. He's been full-body tackled out of many daydreams.^{[return to text]}

Chapter Text

Breakfast the next morning is a quiet affair. Or, it is from Aiden’s side of the table, at least. He mostly spends it trying to kickstart his brain into comprehending Jaskier’s excited rambling–Aiden does not understand how he can be so animated when the sun has barely risen in the sky, but he assumes it’s due to something like whatever dark magic Cedric and half his other Schoolmates engage in to be wide awake a whole hour before dawn just about every day–about possibilities for recurring musical motifs he’s considering now that he’s planning to write songs about more than one witcher. 

It’s extremely tempting to just let the bard’s words wash over him like some kind of nice background noise as he stares across the table at him.^[15] It would make for an enjoyable morning, he thinks. Like the first day or two when he steps off the Path to return to the Caravan and is allowed to sleepily listen to the chatter of his Schoolmates as they train and then prepare breakfast instead of having to wake up and participate. He tries to resist anyways.

He accomplishes both tasks with only moderate success. While he tries his best to listen to what Jaskier is saying, Aiden is both tired and, notably, not a bard by trade or an Oxenfurt graduate and doesn’t really understand a lot of what Jaskier says about music theory even when he does catch the entire sentence. But Jaskier is surprisingly good at noticing when Aiden is confused by a word or phrase he says and goes out of his way to explain, so Aiden thinks that he probably understands what is said as well as he can expect while it’s still so damn early.

Aiden is given to understand that students at universities like Oxenfurt have to get up nearly every morning and attend lectures and actually learn from whatever their professors are telling them even though it’s early. And they don’t even have the incentive of something trying to kill them over it. He’s never been more grateful that for all the terrible things that come with being a witcher, having to roll out of bed early in the morning just to attend a lecture has never been one of them. They always did physical training first in the morning so at least he was some semblance of awake before he was expected to sit and listen and learn. There’s nothing like an activity-induced raised heart rate and a few rounds of advanced balance training to wake a person up in the morning.^[16] 

Thank whatever gods watch over fools and witchers that Aiden isn’t a university student. He’s perfectly happy not having to attend lectures or write exams early in the morning. Though if every professor made him want to listen to them as much as Jaskier makes him want to listen to him, then maybe he would be able to handle it. Maybe. It’s nice listening to Jaskier.

The only problem– besides the fact that it’s too early for reasonable people like himself to be expected to function–is that Jaskier gets somehow even more animated and excited when sees that Aiden is paying attention to his explanations and his eyes fucking sparkle like sunlight glinting off of clear blue water. It’s ridiculous. It makes Aiden want to rest his head on his hands and just watch him, pretty thing that he is. But he can’t because then Jaskier would be sad that he wasn’t paying attention anymore since Aiden does not have the brain power available to do both at the same time at the moment. So Aiden sucks it up and tries to wake himself up without the threat of imminent injury and/or death to help him along and only misses maybe a quarter of what Jaskier says.

Afterwards, Jaskier drags him to see the alderman again.

Aiden would really rather not have to go out and interact with others. He would rather go back to bed, quietly doze in Jaskier's arms and ignore the gradually brightening morning light. Or go find a nice warm patch of sunlight to nap in since they’re already outside. He’s awake and alert by now, but he thinks that he could still slip back into sleep fairly easily with comfortable enough arrangements. But, unfortunately, he is once again forced to get up and start his day, as is his daily torment.

At least Jaskier woke him up gently.^[17] He doubts Jaskier would be capable of literally tossing him out of bed by the ankle like some of his Schoolmates might if he refuses to get up for morning training, but that's not the point. He could have poured cold water on his head or tried to smother him with a pillow if he didn't want to be gentle and kind.^[18] And he got a nice, hot breakfast that he both didn’t have to cook and didn’t contain someone else’s spit! That can be rare on the Path sometimes. Aiden supposes he will just have to take his wins where he can get them.

“Hughes! Good morning!” Jaskier calls far too brightly for so early in the morning, striding up to the alderman.

“Ah! Jaskier! Witcher Aiden! Good morning! To what do I owe the pleasure? Nothing terrible, I hope,” Hughes says jovially, turning away from where he was hooking a cart to a mule. Hughes is also far too energetic for so early in the morning. Aiden wants to know who cursed him to be surrounded by nothing but morning people. He just wants to talk. Even Lambert wakes up at the crack of dawn half the time for some unfathomable reason.

Still, best not be impolite. Spence will tan his hide if he finds out he's misplaced his manners with someone who's only been kind to him–more kind than he ever expected, even.^[19] Alderman Hughes is a good sort, even if he’s strange as all hell for an alderman, judging by the last interaction he had with the man. And Aiden up and awake now, for better or for worse. He fixes his face into a polite smile, inclining his head. “Good morning, alderman.”

“Bah!” Hughes waves his hand through the air as if he’s swatting away a particularly bothersome insect. “Alderman, none of that! We’re friends here, aren’t we? Like I told you yesterday, it’s just Hughes, if you would be so kind.” 

Aiden cuts his gaze to Jaskier, who is watching the interaction with an encouraging smile, seemingly pleased with how it’s going. 

Well. There’s really no choice, is there? Aiden’s smile widens. “If you insist, Just Hughes. But only if–” Jaskier makes a disgusted sound and bats at his shoulder ineffectually with one hand. Hughes chuckles and claps him on his other shoulder. At least he seems to have shaken off whatever bug had gotten stuck in his bonnet the last time Aiden spoke to him. 

“You know, I think I like you, witcher Aiden.” Hughes goes to say more, but Aiden cuts in, hand coming up to grip the outside of Hughes arm.

“Just Aiden is fine.” His eyes sparkle.

“Ah, of course.” Hughes’ eyes dip down to his medallion for half a second before flicking back up. “You’re one cool Cat, Just Aiden.”

Jaskier groans theatrically beside them, placing a hand over his eyes. “Terrible,” he says. “Awful, terrible men, the both of you.” 

“Oh, you don’t mean that, Master Bard Jaskier,” Aiden says, completely unable to keep the smirk off of his face.

Jaskier meets his eyes, completely deadpan. “I really think I do.”

“Ack! You wound us, Master Bard Jaskier,” Hughes says, also smirking. He takes his hand off of Aiden’s shoulder to place it over his heart. “Right here.” 

Aiden nods, also placing his hand over his heart. “Right here,” he echos.

Jaskier closes his eyes and exhales. “Just Jaskier, please,” he says when he opens them again.

Aiden and Hughes grin at each other. “So, Just Jaskier,” Hughes starts, eyes bright. Aiden snickers. Jaskier sighs long-sufferingly, but Aiden can see him smiling, “what did you come to see me for this morning.”

Jaskier puts his hands on his hips. “I was going to ask if you knew of anything that someone might want to hire a witcher to help with in the lead up to the festival, but now I’m questioning the wisdom of coming straight to you instead of going to check the notice board.”

Hughes makes a motion as if to brush away the notion that coming to him wasn’t the wisest choice they could have made. “Ah, you know I know what needs doing more than any old notice board will tell you. Most folks don’t bother posting that kind of thing anyhow. Bit of a waste of ink and paper when everyone around here already has a good idea of what to do. But for what we could use a witcher for?” He blows a breath out, thinking for a moment, and turns to Aiden. “What sort of things are you good at?”

Aiden stands up straighter and casts his mind to all the other times he’s been in a town during or just before a festival, trying to imagine what kind of things need to be done that he has the skills to do. “I’m strong enough to haul heavy objects, like furniture and full barrels of ale. I have good enough balance to not fall off a roof or tree if something needs to be taken and put up somewhere high. And I can track and hunt game just as well as I can monsters.” He shrugs. “I’m a good hand at just about any camping chore.”

Hughes looks him up and down critically for a long moment, clearly thinking. “How do you feel about chopping wood?”

Aiden shugs. “I don’t mind it.” Firewood gathering is far from the worst chore to be assigned. Usually he doesn’t do much actual wood chopping when he’s camping alone or with Lambert–smaller branches he can break off with his hands or under his boot are usually enough for what his needs–but the larger, longer burning cookfires needed to provide for the entire Caravan usually means they need to break out an axe or maul and split some logs. It’s certainly a better chore than, say, laundry duty. 

Hughes claps his hands together once. “Great! Then, tell you what, if you’re itching for something to do right now, you can go fill this cart,” he gestures to the cart he was working with when they walked up, “up with firewood for the bonfire that’s going to be lit the nights of the festival. I was about to grab a few of the youngins and get them to do it for some pocket change, give those lads something to do with their time other than run wild, but I reckon you’ll do. What do you say?”

Aiden looks at the cart. It will be a bit of work to fill all the way up, but it’ll be the mindless, physically taxing sort of work. It probably would take a small handful of young human boys a couple of hours to do, but Aiden thinks he can do it alone in an afternoon if he tries. “I’ll do it,” he decides. “Is there an area I should gather the wood from?”

Hughes smiles and gestures towards the edge of town. “There’s a community firewood shed where we store logs to dry for use in emergencies or town-wide events out near the treeline. The logs should just need to be split and loaded.” He turns to tug on and fiddle with one of the straps that attach the cart to the mule and pats the mule on the neck. “Old Daffodil knows the way.” He gives Jaskier a significant look over his shoulder. “Jaskier does too.”

Jaskier returns the look, then sniffs and turns his head away. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know what you're talking about.” He grabs Aiden’s arm and tugs him toward the cart, already moving to hop in the back of it. 

Aiden angles to climb onto the front to take over the steering. As he heaves himself up, Hughes says, “Oh, come now, Jaskier. You can’t have forgotten that summer.” Aiden looks up just in time to see the look on his face turn into a leer. “ I certainly haven’t.”

Jaskier has climbed into the cart and seated himself in the far corner, settled just behind and to the other side of Aiden, so he can’t see his face very well. Jaskier sighs wistfully. “It was a very nice summer, wasn’t it?” he says, fond as anything. “But of course I wouldn’t know.”

Mischief sparks in Hughes’ eyes. “Really? Maybe I can jog your memory, then. As I recall, it started when I was splitting some logs myself and you stopped me to say–”

“Okay!” Jaskier interrupts. Hughes starts laughing. “Aiden, why don’t we get going? That wood isn’t going to chop itself!”

Aiden chuckles at that smooth and natural change of the subject, but decides to have mercy on him instead of playing into his curiosity about what exactly it was that Hughes was about to say and urges the mule forward. He calls a farewell over to the still laughing Hughes, who responds in kind.

Once they’re a good distance away, Aiden breaks the silence. “So… you and the alderman, huh?” 

Just because he was willing to cut Jaskier some slack with what Hughes was going to say doesn’t mean that he’s not still dreadfully curious. He’s a Cat, sue him. 

Jaskier groans. “Yes, me and Hughes,” he says after a long moment.

“You two had a fling? Or something?” Aiden asks. He supposes that does make some sense, Jaskier said he had been coming to this town for a while. It at least gives him an explanation for why Jaskier, a humble bard, thought he could do anything about the alderman shorting him on his payment. Jaskier being on exceptionally good terms with the town alderman could also explain why the townspeople seem to respect him, maybe.

Jaskier sighs. “Or something,” he says. “It was when we were much, much younger and still figuring ourselves out, way before he ever plucked up the courage to court Matilda–that’s his wife, if you haven’t met her, she’s very nice, an incredible woman, really, they’re very good together–and we’re mostly just friends now. But it was fun while it lasted.”

Aiden wonders how long ago it could have been, and just how young Jaskier could have been, how young Hughes could have been. He isn’t very good at estimating human ages, but Hughes looks much older than Jaskier does. But Jaskier doesn’t seem to view the experience negatively so–”Just mostly friends?” he asks.

Jaskier hums and Aiden can hear his grin come through in his voice. “Hughes and Matilda are very good together.”

Footnotes:

¹⁵Aiden knows he really shouldn’t relax so much in a public space, he doesn’t have Lambert or any of his more morning-loving Schoolmates next to him to protect him if someone were to come up behind him and try to stab him. He’s not so tired and relaxed that he would just let that happen, of course, but his reaction would be delayed, certainly, and a slow witcher is a dead witcher. It’s not the smartest or safest choice, might even be called outright stupid by some. But Jaskier guided him to sit at a corner table with his back to the wall and a good view of the door and all the closest windows. Even the stairs are not too far out of his line of sight and are far enough away that he would have ample opportunity to spot someone coming. And Jaskier is sitting between him and the rest of the room like a shield, as sparsely occupied as it is so early in the morning. Aiden thinks it might be okay to make stupid decisions. He did tell himself he would try to relax, didn’t he?^{[return to text]}

¹⁶And of course, by advanced balance training he means having to make his way across a slackline while his Schoolmates hurled little pouches of scrap fabric filled with sand at him. As he got older–and much better at it–it progressed from just walking across the slackline to adding flourishes while he did so to adding in more acrobatic tricks to attempting to traverse the whole thing through only flips–a feat which he still can’t always accomplish if only because the second his Schoolmates realize what he’s trying to do, half of them start aiming for the slackline itself to knock it out from under where he’s going to land (and if that hasn’t gotten him in more than his fair share of painful landings then nothing has). It’s even more of a game now then when he was a kit, still learning how to tell where his body was. Especially since now he has the reflexes to occasionally catch those little pouches of sand and throw them back.^{[return to text]}

¹⁷The first time. When Aiden almost fell back to sleep with his head in his arms while waiting for Jaskier to finish his morning routine? Well. Walking out the door with a quip over his shoulder that suggested that his meal might actually be poisoned this time and wouldn’t it be so tragic for the voice of a generation to be silenced by bad sausage that could have been avoided was a dirty fucking trick. One that he can respect, but a dirty trick all the same. Aiden had hardly expected him to pick up on his entirely reasonable caution in the first place, turning around and using it against him so quickly–lighthearted as it may have been–is a sort of viciousness he might expect from a Cat. Precise and perfectly calculated to exploit a weakness he barely even realized he was exposing. He never would have expected it from Jaskier if he hadn’t seen him do it, but that just makes it all the better.^{[return to text]}

¹⁸Early in their relationship, after his Wolf started liking him enough to not try and run off without him in the morning but before they started sleeping curled up together, Lambert occasionally would pour cold water on his face to wake him up. Because, as much as Aiden adores him, he's still a fucking asshole sometimes. Enough of an asshole that he didn't learn his lesson the first time he did that and Aiden reflexively cast aard at him, throwing him across the clearing and into the creek they had set up camp next to. Lambert is damned lucky he didn't cast igni.^{[return to text]}

¹⁹Spence would probably actually just refuse to make any of Aiden’s favorites for dinner on the nights he takes cooking duty–which is most nights he’s with the Caravan, something which everyone is feverishly grateful for, regardless of the fact that they are all perfectly capable of making edible food themselves. Or maybe deny him the treats he’s sometimes able to make when they can get the ingredients, but that’s almost somehow worse than if he did tan Aiden’s hide. Spence’s food is very good. Aiden has taken elbows and knees and hands to all sorts of spots on his body to claim a share of the leftovers from Spence's cooking. He's even been lightly stabbed for it, a time or two. And it was worth it.^{[return to text]}

Chapter Text

Splitting logs at pace is, as it turns out, mind-numbing, back-breaking work. By the time he’s split enough logs to cover the bottom of the cart, Aiden is starting to lightly sweat under the heat of the late spring sun. It’s not terrible, not yet, but it’s also still early enough that the sun has yet to entirely bake off the last of the lingering night-chill. As the day goes on, it will only get hotter, and Aiden can’t see himself finishing this for a couple of hours yet.

It’s possible that he was a little overconfident in his abilities. Not by much, of course, and the gods themselves will have to pry even that admittance out of him if they want him to say it aloud, but it’s possible. 

When he’s on firewood duty for the Caravan, he usually has a partner or two to help him split and haul the wood. And they only take as much wood at a time as they can easily haul back themselves in neatly tied together bundles before returning to drop them off back at camp to feed the fires. And he’s usually doing it in the middle of a forest that provides some measure of shade from the sun, even in the dead of summer when the air is so thick and heavy with humidity it feels like even breathing takes more effort than usual. 

Aiden is discovering that continuously splitting logs here, on a block which is clearly meant for that purpose but nevertheless is not positioned to offer any protection from heat of the sun, with the only built-in breaks from the continuous swinging of the splitting maul coming in the form of organizing and stacking the pieces in the wagon and retrieving more wood just to repeat the process again, is more difficult than the firewood duty he’s used to. He can handle it–he’s a witcher and he will not be defeated by a pile of wood–but it does give him a better appreciation for those humans that make this sort of thing their job.

Aiden is immensely thankful for the gentle breeze that blows in from the west, cooling his skin. It does blow pieces of his hair into his eyes every so often, but that’s okay. It’s only mildly annoying.

It’s around what must be the hundredth time Aiden has had to stop and physically move a piece of his hair from where it’s stuck to the sweat-slick skin of his forehead and refusing to move out of his eyes by way of head-shaking or air-blowing that he gets fed up. He plants the splitting maul in the block beside the next log he has set up and shoves his hand into a pocket to fish for one of the pieces of cording he uses to tie his hair back on the rare occasion that he needs. Usually, he prefers to leave his hair loose–it can be difficult to get all of his hair to lay flat without the use of a brush and he’s not a fan of how it pulls on his head unevenly if he doesn’t, let alone how the tie tends to loosen over time–but there’s only so much he can handle.

His hair, damp near his scalp and the back of his neck from the sweat, clings to his fingers as he runs them through it a few times to try to smooth down what he can. He gathers it high on the back of his head and puts the tie in when he feels minimal lumps popping up as he passes his hand over it. He doubts that it’s perfect–definitely not as attractive as the usual fall of his hair–but it gets the hair out of his face and keeps it that way so it’s more than good enough.

Aiden takes the moment to push his sleeves up to his elbows before he takes the maul in hand again and lines up his next swing. 

Aiden brings the maul down with a force befitting his lingering frustration, easily splitting the log and embedding the maul in the block again. Over the sharp crack of splitting wood, he hears a loud, discordant twang sound that’s quickly cut off from the direction of the woodshed where Jaskier is lounging in the shade with his lute in his lap.

“Are you alright, Jaskier?” he calls, glancing over. That was not a sound he’s heard Jaskier make with his lute before and it didn’t exactly seem like a good sound, at that. He pulls the maul out of the block and rests it on his shoulder, squinting in the sunlight at where Jaskier is sitting. “Did one of your strings break, or something?”

“Huh?” Jaskier says, staring back at him with one hand clamped firmly over the neck of his lute and the other pressed flat against the strings. Then, like coming out of a trance, he shakes his head and chuckles. “Oh, no. Slip of the fingers, that’s all! I merely had a, ah, flash of inspiration that resulted in a momentary lapse in attention.” Jaskier sighs theatrically, sounding very tragic. “Unfortunately, not even a bard as great as I am is entirely immune to such blunders.”

A flash of inspiration and a momentary lapse in attention, huh? Is that what they’re calling it now? Because, based on the way Jaskier had been looking at him and the fragment of a story he heard from Hughes before Jaskier cut him off, Aiden would place money on the bard having gotten distracted staring at him. 

Aiden raises a brow. “You know, if you can’t focus on your lute playing, you’re welcome to come over here and split some logs yourself.”

Jaskier gasps, scandalized. “And risk damaging my hands? No, I couldn’t. That axe might give me blisters, or worse, splinters! Have you ever heard of a bard playing with blistered and splintered hands?” Aiden opens his mouth to say–something, probably. What, he doesn’t know and doesn’t get to find out as Jaskier continues without a moment’s pause. “Of course you haven’t, such a thing would be ludicrous. My hands are the tools of my profession, dear witcher. I can’t risk damaging them. No, I think I’ll stay over here and you can just,” Jaskier pauses as he swallows, making some non-specific gesture with his hands in keeping with the pretentious affectation he’s adopted to cover up the gap in his speech. But there’s nothing to cover the way his eyes rake over Aiden, though it might have been subtle and unnoticeable from this distance if he wasn’t a witcher, “keep doing what you were doing.”

Aiden snorts, but acquiesces to the demand and returns to his task.

Aiden can already feel the ache settling into his shoulders and back when he finally places his latest pieces of firewood on the pile in the cart and steps back to survey his work.

The cart is full enough that he should probably cover it with the tarp Hughes was kind enough to include in the cart before they set off if he wants to avoid losing pieces of firewood to bumps in the road. He could maybe fit some more on there, but it might get a bit precarious. As it stands, he thinks they should have more than enough, and if they don’t, he or whoever else can always come back another day.

He returns the splitting maul to the sheltered woodshed and sets himself to stretching out his shoulders and back before they can become a problem. Once done, he collapses onto his back and sprawls out in the grass next to Jaskier, groaning.

He hears Jaskier snicker at him and hisses back automatically before he can think about it, like he would if it were any of his Schoolmates laughing at him. Jaskier just laughs louder, but then a full waterskin is being pressed into his hands, so he supposes he can forgive him.

Aiden sits up enough to drain half the waterskin before flopping right back down and closing his eyes. The tie in his hair digs into his head oddly and he tilts his head back until he feels it loosen and move enough that he isn’t laying on it. “I never want to chop wood again. Whose idea was it to have a big ass fire as part of their festival when it’s this warm out, anyways?”

“The bonfire is integral to the festivities, Aiden,” Jaskier says. Aiden can hear him struggling not to laugh. “It simply wouldn’t be the same without it. And what would you have these wonderful townspeople dance around, if not the bonfire?”

“I don’t know–” Aiden waves a hand vaguely “–a statue? A bucket of water? Maybe just a smaller fire? Literally anything else that wouldn’t require this much wood? I saw some children holding hands and dancing around a loose pile of dead slugs a few villages back. They seemed like they were having fun. Maybe they could try that.”

Jaskier hums in thought. “No, I don’t think any of those would work the same. The big bonfire is an absolute necessity.” He pauses, then adds, “And I think those children may have been trying to summon a demon.”

Aiden groans and throws an arm over his face. Jaskier pats his elbow.  “It’s okay Aiden, maybe you’ll understand when you see it for yourself.”

“It better be a really nice bonfire,” Aiden grumbles. 

Jaskier’s hand leaves his arm. A moment later, he hears him start plucking out a slow, delicate tune on his lute, accompanied by quiet humming. Aiden sighs and relaxes further into the grass, listening to the notes of the melody as they mingle with the birdsong in the forest and the rustle of leaves in the wind and the steady beat of Jaskier’s heart. He takes a deep, slow breath and the feeling of the grass beneath him and the wind blowing over his skin and the warmth of the sun suddenly feel more present than before.

It’s peaceful. And strangely restful, like an odd sort of half-meditation, but not at the same time. When he meditates, he focuses all of his energy inwards, becoming largely unaware of his body and his surroundings and the passage of time except to identify imminent threats. It’s not grounding like this. He’d almost think the tune that Jaskier is playing to be magical, but his medallion is still where it rests on his chest and Jaskier is purely human.

Eventually, he has to admit that he’s laid there for long enough–prompted mostly by the hunger that’s begun creeping up on him, reminding him that it’s nearly lunch and he’s done a good amount of manual labor since breakfast–and levers himself to his feet. He turns and offers a hand to Jaskier, who beams up at him and accepts, slinging his lute over his shoulder as Aiden hauls him up.

“Ready to get this show on the road?” Jaskier asks as he dusts himself off.

“If I could spend the rest of the afternoon lazing around in the shade, I would,” Aiden says as he starts towards the wagon. “But unfortunately we haven’t completed the job yet. Also, it’s getting to be lunch time and I don't know a way we can both lie about and acquire food, so–” he shrugs.

“I see,” Jaskier says seriously, trotting after him, “so next time we shall have to bring a picnic lunch, got it.”

Aiden smiles. The thought of a next time makes him feel warm in a way that can’t be accounted for by the day’s heat. “I imagine that would extend the lazing about, yes.”

Jaskier nods like they’re discussing matters of utmost importance, but Aiden can see the grin tugging on his lips when he looks at him. “Of course, of course,” he says. “Note to self,” he announces, like he’s dictating to some unseen scribe, “remember to pack a lunch the next time you want to spend an afternoon comfortably lazing about with a Cat.” He stops walking and crosses his arms, putting his hand on his chin and looking off into the distance. “Fish, maybe? I think cats like fish, but do Cats like fish? That might be too on the nose. Maybe cheese and dried meat and some good brown bread, then. Can’t go wrong with a classic.” 

Aiden laughs. Jaskier looks back at him and cracks too, giggling. When he can speak intelligibly, he says, “I can tell you this Cat likes fish just fine. Now why don’t you go get Daffodil,” he nods over to where she’s grazing, “and bring her back over here while I secure the load?”

Jaskier nods and happily trots over to the mule while Aiden busies himself with getting the tarp laid out over the wood and lashing it down. When he finishes and looks over, Jaskier has not only led Daffodil back to the wagon, but is petting her neck and feeding her an apple.

“Where the hell did you get an apple?” Aiden asks. Unless he was even more out of it this morning than he thought he had been, he never saw him buy or steal or otherwise acquire an apple that morning and they’re not exactly in an orchard.

“Hm?” Jaskier looks up from his doting. “Oh, I always try to keep an apple or two on me for Roach. Even when I’m not expecting to see her soon, I still try to have one just in case. Every Roach to date has been an ornery old mare and it’s the best way for me to get into her good graces and stay there.” He shrugs. “Worst comes to worst, they make a good snack on the road. And it means I can always give treats to good girls like Daffodil here.” He looks at her and strokes over the side of her neck. “You’re such a good lady, aren’t you? Waiting so patiently for us to finish. You deserve all the treats.”

“Huh.” So Jaskier just always has apples on him. Interesting. Maybe Aiden should consider doing something similar with Horse.^[20] It could be nice to curry more of his favor with treats, if only for the look it would put on Lambert’s face when he realized Horse had a favorite and it wasn’t him. 

Aiden hitches Daffodil to the wagon, a task made easy by Jaskier continuing to dote on her long after she finishes the apple, whispering sweet words about how pretty and well-behaved she is. When he declares her ready, Jaskier finally parts from her to haul himself up onto the front of the wagon while Aiden does one final walk around to check that she’s hitched correctly and comfortably and that the knots tying down the tarp are secure and there’s nothing obviously wrong with the wagon before they set off.

Once he’s confirmed everything is good, Aiden pulls himself up to sit next to Jaskier on the front of the wagon and takes Daffodil’s reins in hand. He shifts to get comfortable, straightens his posture, looks out in front of them at the trail leading back to the heart of town, and–“Did Hughes ever say what he wanted us to do with the wood after it was split and loaded?” He looks at Jaskier.

Jaskier opens his mouth, then closes it. His brow furrows. “You know,” Jaskier says, “I don’t think he did.”

Footnotes:

²⁰Not for exactly the same reasons, though. Horse actually likes Aiden about the same as the gelding likes Lambert. On some days Aiden might even say he likes him more. Aiden treats Horse the same as he treats the horses that pull the Caravan’s wagons–that is, as though he is important to he and Lambert and the way they live their lives and would be both expensive and terribly inconvenient to replace should he die or fall sick or sustain an injury. It also helps that Aiden knows how to care for hooves better than Lambert does–can, in fact, shoe a horse in a pinch if he has access to equipment. And Lambert, well. Lambert does care for his horse and does everything he needs to do to keep him healthy and strong and relatively happy, but it’s obvious that he views Horse as important but ultimately expendable.^{[return to text]}

Chapter Text

Aiden drops the reins and puts his face in his hands. Daffodil placidly lowers her head and pulls a weed out of the ground to chew on.

“How did we only just now realize he didn’t tell us what to do with the wood after it was chopped?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Jasker says after a pause. “We were a little distracted, though. And the young boys who normally do this surely also know what’s meant to happen after.”

Aiden drops his hands so he can look at Jaskier, leaning his head on his fist instead. “Well, according to Hughes, you used to be one of the young boys… helping with the wood for the festival. Do you know what’s supposed to happen after?”

Jaskier grins. “Well, I was certainly doing something with wood out here,” he winks at him and Aiden can’t help but snigger, “though I don’t know if I would say it was for the festival.” His brow furrows in thought. “I think there was a smaller shed we moved it to, closer to the center of town? Somewhere where it would be easily accessible for the festivities.”

“But you don’t remember where, exactly, do you?” Aiden asks.

Jaskier purses his lips. “Not as such, no. As you might imagine, I wasn’t nearly as interested in that particular woodshed as I was this one. But I definitely do remember taking the firewood somewhere and not just leaving it here.”

“Really?” Aiden says, sitting up and looking around them pointedly. “And here I thought Hughes let us take dear Daffodil and this whole wagon with us just because he didn’t want to make us walk out here.”

Jaskier scoffs and pushes lightly on his shoulder. “Hush, kitten. Aren’t you just full of jokes today?”

Aiden catches his hand and brings it to his lips to kiss. “Only when I’m in good company,” he says, delivering a wink of his own.

Jaskier’s eyebrows raise and his eyes sparkle at the compliment. “Oh, and he’s complimentary too?” Jaskier lifts his hand out of his gentle grip to caress Aiden’s cheek as he’s treated to Jaskier’s brilliant smile once again. “Well, my dear witcher, I’ll have you know that flattery will get you everywhere.” His eyes cut to where Daffodil is still patiently waiting for them to tell her to start walking. “Except wherever it is we’re supposed to be going.”

Aiden groans and falls back into the wood behind him.

Unfazed, Jaskier seamlessly integrates the hand he had been using to caress his cheek into a gesture instead. “Though, could you imagine if flattery did have divinatory properties? Do you think anyone has ever tried? If I could know the present and future in exchange for some pretty words–of which I have many–I would be unstoppable.”

“Some might say that you can gain information from a judicious application of flattery,” Aiden says.^[21] He lifts his head. “Or do you mean to tell me that you’ve never used those pretty little words of yours to get your way?”

Jaskier presses his palm against his chest in mock offense. “Me? Employ flattery to get my way? How dare you accuse me of such duplicity!” 

Aiden raises an amused eyebrow. “So, you don’t make it a habit to lure poor, unsuspecting witchers into your bed or into your washtub with nothing more than nice words and unflinching kindness?” He settles himself more comfortably and allows a smug smirk to take over his face. “I suppose it’s an honor to be one of the first then. After Geralt, of course,” he allows.

Jaskier splutters. “That’s different!” he insists.

“Is it?” Aiden asks. “Doesn’t seem very different to me. You convinced me to allow you something I wouldn’t normally allow a stranger with just a collection of nice, pretty little words,” he chooses not to mention just how much of the legwork was already done by the bard’s last decade of staunch support for witchers. “Whether you’re convincing unsuspecting witchers to let you dote on them or some backwater alderman to pay out a contract or a noble to make one decision over another doesn’t make much of a difference, the way I see it.”

Jaskier straightens. “It’s different because it’s not flattery if it’s genuine,” he says. There’s a challenge in his eyes, like he’s daring Aiden to try and claim he didn’t mean every kind word he’s said to him. It makes a soft sort of warmth bloom in his chest, unrelated to the midday heat. With it comes again the serene thought that he would kill and maim for this man with very few questions asked.

“You’re dangerous,” he says, instead of a hundred far more damning things that sit on the tip of his tongue. Things that humans wouldn’t understand. Especially not too nice, too kind ones like Jaskier.^[22]

Jaskier gasps and looks at Aiden with big, deliberately innocent looking eyes. “You wound me, sir. I’m naught but a simple bard. I’m as harmless as a fly.”

Aiden snorts. “As harmless as a siren, more like,” he says, sitting up to stretch his arms above his head. He feels Jaskier’s leg jump against his own, but when he comes out of the stretch and looks at him, he sees only the nervous surprise of someone who has received an unanticipated compliment. “I don’t doubt that you could flay a man alive with only your words. I think you hear more than enough useful little details when you smile and pretend you’re less than harmless.” Aiden knows he’s making some assumptions, but he thinks he might have the right of it. Witcher senses let him cheat the game a little, but that alone doesn’t explain how easily Jaskier makes him want to let his guard down. Aiden can picture him, bright and flashy in his pretty clothes that do nothing but hide his musculature, attracting all the attention at a nobleman’s banquet and yet no attention at all. But maybe he’s biased. “I think you could wield public opinion just as well as I wield a sharp knife, if you set your mind to it.”

Jaskier’s usually broad, confident smile shifts toward shy as he cuts his eyes away. Aiden feels like he’s won something.

“Anyway!” Aiden says brightly before Jaskier can put together a way to deflect what Aiden feels is a very high compliment coming from a witcher. He picks up the reins again. “Why don’t we just have Daffodil take us back to Hughes’ house? He’ll know what he wants done with all this firewood. And if he doesn’t want to see us then it’s his own fault for not giving us other instructions. Sound like a plan?” He knocks their shoulders together.

Jaskier’s smile broadens, but retains a certain shy softness to it as he looks back at him. “Sounds like a plan. It’s probably better than trying to search for a woodshed I only vaguely remember, anyway.”

With that, Aiden urges Daffodil forward along the trail. She begins walking at a sedate, comfortable pace that doesn’t cause the wagon to rock too much as it’s pulled and Aiden is happy to let her. After a minute, he feels Jaskier lean against his side, more hesitant than he’d been in any of their other interactions. Aiden leans back against him and purrs his approval, deliberately choosing not to turn and look at him. He is rewarded with the feeling of Jaskier relaxing and pushing back much more firmly. Jaskier’s head falls onto his shoulder a moment later.

Jaskier starts softly humming snatches of songs Aiden isn’t familiar with. The sound of his voice mixing with the sound of his own rumbling purr and the soft, twittering birdsong around them sounds right.

Aiden basks in the moment of perfect contentment until a stray thought surfaces. 

“Do you think traversing court would be more or less dreadfully awful if it did turn out that employing flattery could achieve some level of divination?” he asks. 

Jaskier startles out of his position slumped against Aiden’s shoulder with a laugh.

“No, really!” Aiden says. Jaskier only laughs louder. “Hear me out on this–” he says. He doubts Jaskier is hearing much of anything over the sound of his own laughter.

“Hughes!” Jaskier calls with hands around his mouth as they approach the modest house the alderman keeps for himself. 

Aiden swings around to look at him just as he pushes himself to stand up in the seat and wave. He swears, quickly shuffling the reins into a one-handed grip so he can place a steadying hand on Jaskier’s thigh.

Eyes flicking between Jaskier and the road ahead to make sure he doesn’t accidentally guide Daffodil into getting their wagon stuck in a ditch, Aiden growls in frustration. He thinks about just yanking him back down to sit properly, but disregards it as too risky. Instead, he uses the hand on Jaskier’s thigh to gently pull him towards himself so he might fall on Aiden, who will damn well catch him even if it means having to release the reins and throw them both over the side and a safe distance away, as opposed to off the other side, where he might get crushed under the wheels if he lands too close and where Aiden will have to dive for him if he hopes on catching him. 

Aiden’s mouth curls in the beginnings of a hiss. He wants to tell Jaskier to sit back down, but he knows he himself is even worse. If Jaskier were the one steering Daffodil, there’s a decent chance Aiden would have tried to demonstrate his skill at maneuvering over, between, and even under moving wagons that he learned walking with the Caravan. He’d be such a hypocrite. And Jaskier is perfectly capable of making his own decisions and dealing with the consequences, Aiden reassures himself, even if those decisions are currently giving him a heart attack.^[23] Still, he keeps one eye on him and prepares himself to catch him if necessary. He gives the reins some slack, trusting Daffodil to more or less follow the path on her own. She’s a good girl, she can handle it. 

Down the road, Hughes looks up from his conversation with a young woman and waves, but doesn’t shout back. 

“Hughes, you old cad!” Jaskier shouts. “I think you forgot something when you sent us out.”

Hughes makes a questioning gesture. The woman, who is looking more and more familiar the closer they get, puts her hand to her face in what Aiden assumes is a giggle.

“What do you mean what did you forget? Think about it!” Jaskier shouts. He puts his hands on his hips and looks down at Aiden–who is still keeping maybe a little more than just one eye on him–and says in a quieter, but still quite dramatic voice, “Can you believe him? What did I forget? Really?” He shakes his head with a groan, “Ugh, that man.”

“How dare he,” Aiden agrees, a little distracted. The wagon jolts with a dip in the road. Jaskier shifts with it, but doesn’t fall. Aiden tightens his grip on his leg. “He should be wracked with guilt.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Jaskier says, still standing. He crosses his arms, which does nothing positive for Aiden’s peace of mind. “You’d think he hasn’t given us a single thought since we left,” he sniffs.

Aiden hums in answer and tries to focus on guiding Daffodil one-handed to a gentle stop that won’t jolt the wagon too much. They’re close enough, he thinks. It will be good for them to walk the extra bit of distance.

It’s not for an extra second or two after they come to a complete stop that Aiden is able to release his grip on Jaskier’s leg. He closes his eyes for only a brief moment to center himself before they snap open again as he feels sudden movement beside him. He only barely stops himself short of grabbing whatever part of Jaskier he can reach as he registers that the movement was from the bard clambering down to the ground and not the result of an unfortunate loss of balance. Instead, he wraps his fingers around his medallion and allows himself a moment to pray for peace.

It’s been so long since he’s had to endure the stress of watching a kitten be actively at risk of taking a nasty fall, he’d almost forgotten what it was like. These days, if one of his Schoolmates falls off something it’s funny, except in extreme circumstances. He knows they’re tough enough to handle it–and a full grown Cat shouldn’t be caught regularly falling off anything, anyhow. But a human? A human he cares about, at that? Aiden doesn’t understand how some of his older Schoolmates survived decades of watching kittens climb every available structure without going entirely grey from stress. Humans are so much less durable than witchers.

But he can’t just sit in the wagon forever–well, he probably could, actually. Aiden doesn’t doubt that Jaskier would do all the talking and information gathering for him if he chose not to engage Hughes and the young woman–something loosens in his chest as Aiden identifies her as Estra now that they’re closer and he has enough attention to devote to it, though he wonders where Ara is–the man has traveled with Geralt of all witchers for the last decade. Aiden could sit here and cross his arms and act the silent and brooding type if he wanted and he doesn’t doubt that Jaskier would be perfectly capable of taking care of everything without him. But Aiden isn’t the silent and brooding type. Plus, he likes feeling included in conversations that concern him, so he climbs down from his seat.

He stops to pat Daffodil’s neck and praise her for being a very good girl on his way past her. Unlike Jaskier, he doesn’t have any apples or other treats hidden in his pockets, though he almost wishes he did. Daffodil would deserve it for giving them such a gentle ride and helping him prevent Jaskier from taking a nasty spill.^[24] She is such a good girl.

“You two are back already?” Aiden hears Hughes say.

“Yes, we’re back already,” Jaskier says as Aiden joins them, hands on his hips. “Because you,” he points a finger at Hughes, “forgot something.” 

Hughes raises an eyebrow and looks at both of them, then to the tarped over wagon filled to the brim with wood. His other eyebrow joins the first as he takes it in. “And what, pray tell, did I forget?” he says, looking back at them. He gestures over to the wagon. “It certainly looks like you found everything alright. And quickly, too.”

“We spent all morning,” Jaskier starts in a very dramatic huff and Aiden can already tell this is going to be good, “breaking our backs, toiling and laboring in the harsh, unrelenting summer sun–”

“It’s still spring, actually,” Hughes cuts in, lips curling into a smile. Estra purses her lips like she’s trying to hold back a giggle. Aiden feels his own mouth curl into an amused grin.

“–sweat drenched and boiling in this terrible, awful heat–” Jaskier continues as though he hadn’t been interrupted at all.

“I think the weather today is rather pleasant,” Estra chimes in. Hughes grins at her and her smile breaks containment as she catches sight of him, the beginning of a laugh cut off as she raises her hand to her mouth.

“–splitting a wagon’s worth of wood by hand, one log at a time, for hours, all so this fine town can have enough wood to make a beautiful bonfire! And when we finish and ready ourselves to deliver it to the appropriate location, only then do we realize that you never told us where that would be,” Jaskier says. He places his hand upon his chest and slumps hopelessly. “The two of us, we were lost! Stranded! We simply didn’t know where to go or what to do.” He sniffs as though holding back tears. Aiden obligingly schools his face into something sad and sympathetic and reaches out to rub his back in comfort, suppressing a snigger at his dramatics. Jaskier turns into him, pressing his forehead against his shoulder and slinging an arm around his waist. “I simply don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t have Aiden out there with me.” He sniffs again. Aiden pulls him closer and turns his head to nuzzle against his temple, using Jaskier’s head to hide the wobbling of his mouth. “I might have died.”

“He’s right,” Aiden adds with a shake of his head, pushing down the urge to crack and start giggling himself. He looks off into the distance. “It was really touch and go there for a while, especially with me being injured,” he says, holding up his hand to show where he’d had to dig a couple splinters out in the course of chopping the wood. “We were lucky to survive.”

Estra loses the battle against her giggles. Hughes snorts at them. “Ehh,” he says. “But did you die though?”

Jaskier jerks upright and gasps in offense. “Well–no, we didn’t,” he admits. “But that’s not the point! We were suffering!” He pouts. “I demand recompense.”

Hughes rolls his eyes at them, but Aiden can see that he’s trying not to laugh. Aiden presses his lips together, fighting hard to keep his composure.  

Hughes turns to Estra. “Will you be alright alone with these two court jesters, Estra?”

Jaskier gasps in outrage, puffing up like an insulted pigeon. “Court jesters! How dare you, sir! I’ll have you know I am a classically trained bard, not some jester. I graduated summa cum laude from Oxenfurt.” He goes to turn back to Aiden, but Aiden has already given in to the rising tide of his own laughter, amusement bursting bright in his chest. He pulls Jaskier close instead and laughs into his shoulder, squeezing him tight. He feels one of Jaskier’s hands come to rest on his arm and the other pats at his hair as he gasps helplessly, Jaskier chuckling with him.

“I think I’ll be okay,” Estra manages to say, breathless. 

“Good,” Hughes says. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he announces and promptly turns to walk inside without bothering to wait for an acknowledgement that would likely never come from Aiden and Jaskier.

The laughter on Aiden’s lips tastes like sweet orange citrus. It feels like a small star bursting right next to his heart. It feels a little like that nebulous thing he dares to call home. It feels exactly unlike every time he’s pushed and shoved at everything that was him until it would fit in a box with a pretty little bow, something blunted and beautiful that might not scare the humans as much. 

It's also starting to sound a little deranged even to his own ears, but Jaskier doesn’t flinch from him in the same way that Lambert and his Schoolmates never flinch from him or ask him to be smaller than he is. And that drives him higher like nothing else, until he’s laughing so hard he doesn’t make a sound and can hardly breathe against it, can hardly think or hear anything else.^[25]

He gasps against Jaskier’s doublet. Jaskier strokes his hair and doesn’t push him away. Instead, he leans his head to the side to rest gently against Aiden’s. Aiden clings to him harder and tries to remember how to breathe and be something other than a feeling. 

When the bright star of his joy in his chest eventually shrinks to something a little less wholly suffocating and he comes back to himself, Aiden realizes that he feels lightheaded and warm all over and just slightly dizzy. He nuzzles into the junction of Jaskier’s neck and shoulder and hums a drunken, giggly note.

“You two really did all of that in the time since this morning?” He hears Estra ask. She sounds curious and disbelieving and impressed and not at all like she’s scared or horrified. She’s so nice, he thinks, a stress he hardly had time to be aware of lifting from his shoulders. Aiden thinks he might like her.

Jaskier straightens, jarring Aiden from what he considered to be a very comfortable position buried face first in his doublet. “Of course not,” Jaskier starts. Aiden turns his head and scrapes his teeth against the bare skin of his neck, mindful that he likely wouldn’t take kindly to Aiden closing his teeth around the flesh of his shoulder through the fabric of his doublet and leaving a wet spot. Jaskier cuts himself off with a quiet gasp, swallows, then continues as Aiden finally withdraws from him. “Can you imagine me chopping wood, Estra? Me? Risking countless splinters? Putting my hands, my very livelihood, at risk?” Jaskier shakes his head. “Of course we didn’t do all that,” he gestures back to where Aiden parked the wagon, “this morning.” Jaskier reaches back out to Aiden to pat at him proudly. “Aiden did all that this morning. I provided crucial moral support and supervision.”

“I really couldn’t have done it without him,” Aiden says, catching Jaskier’s retreating wrist with his fingers almost without thinking about it. Jaskier twists his hand until he intertwines their fingers, giving his hand a squeeze. 

When he looks back at Estra she looks surprised. She looks at him. “You really did all that alone just this morning? Did you even take any breaks?”

“Well, no,” Aiden says, less surprised at the question than he would have been even a day ago, “but that’s part of why we came back. So we could finish the job and then break for lunch.” He supposes he could have hunted something for them, but he was tired after spending hours doing manual labor and he hadn’t been looking forward to doing more before having a genuine break.

Estra frowns at him. She nods like she’s made up her mind about something. “That settles it, then,” she says. “You two will meet me at my cottage after you unload all that wood and feel as though your task is complete. I will prepare enough lunch for you both.”

Aiden blinks, taken aback. “You don’t have to do that,” he starts, but Estra cuts him off.

“Nonsense,” she dismisses, “I was already going to be making lunch for Ara and myself once we go home, it’s no trouble at all to make some extra portions.”

“If we won't be a bother, we would be beyond happy to join you and Ara for lunch,” Jaskier agrees when Aiden takes a second too long to respond. “Right, Aiden?”

Aiden rallies himself. “Who am I to tell a beautiful woman I won’t partake in her undoubtedly delicious food when she offers it out of the pure goodness of her heart?” He winks. Estra smiles back at him in amusement. “I couldn’t possibly rebuff your kindness like that. Consider it a date.”

Estra smirks. “I don’t know if I would say all that. That implies that I don’t have any ulterior motives.”

Aiden raises his eyebrows. “Oh?” he says.

At the same time, Jaskier says, “Ulterior motives? You? I can hardly believe that you’d have such a thing, darling.” 

“Of course,” Estra says. “I actually came out here to speak to Hughes about borrowing his cart soon to haul some barrels to the square. And if you’re already coming over for lunch, surely it won’t be too much of an inconvenience to bring the cart with you instead of returning it.” She glances to the side. “And if you find yourself feeling especially generous after your meal, you might even find it within your hearts to help me load the barrels for transport.”

“Cunning,” Jaskier says approvingly. Smart, Aiden agrees internally. Aiden thinks he really does like her.

“What can I say?” She shrugs. “I want to skip the line if I can. I know that at least Ronan at the bakery came looking earlier.” 

Just then, there’s a loud gasp from the direction of the house. Aiden snaps his head over and instantly resolves a mystery that has been lingering in the back of his mind since they got back.

“Mister Aiden!” Ara squeals. 

They break out into a sprint towards him. Aiden prepares to be a little more than a statue to be run into this time, but they stop just before him, bouncing on their toes. “Hi!” Ara says, waving their hand that isn’t holding a waxed paper bag to their chest.

Aiden glances at Estra and sees that she’s looking at the both of them with a soft smile. It’s a good sign, one he’s starting to believe might be well and truly be real and permanent. He crouches down to be closer to Ara’s level.

“Hello again, Ara,” he says, smiling at them. They remind him so much of the few kittens he ever had a chance to take care of. 

Ara’s eyes light up. “Will you pick me up?” they blurt out, nearly vibrating out of their skin.

He tilts his head and decides to tease them a little. This day has been going so well for him. It makes him feel giddy. “Do you want me to?” he asks.

“Yes!” they say.

“Well in that case…” He opens his arms to them. Ara squeals and launches themselves into his arms, wrapping their own around his neck. He stands up and their legs wrap around his waist. He hears Estra giggle at them.

He shifts Ara to his hip to give them more stability. They lean back once they feel secure and look up at his face and giggles.

“You put your hair up, Mister Aiden? You look so pretty!” they say. 

Aiden moves his head in surprise, having forgotten, and feels the loose, low ponytail his hair has ended up in moving against his neck. He grimaces, remembering how it got so loose. No matter what Ara might say, he thinks his hair probably looks awful just now. It must be so uneven. The feeling of the bundled up hair on his neck is abruptly extremely irritating.

“You didn’t think I was pretty before?” he pouts at Ara instead of giving into the sudden urge to rip his hair tie out and scratch at his scalp immediately. 

Ara gasps. “No! You're pretty with your hair down too, Mister Aiden,” they say.

“Are you sure?” He says. He widens his eyes in an attempt to look pitiful.

“Yes!” Ara says.

Aiden sniffs and turns his head to the side. “I don’t know. I think you might just be saying that.” He peeks back at Ara. They look frustrated, face scrunched up. It’s a cute look on their young face.

“No, I mean it,” they insist. Their face clears. “Here,” they say. They reach for Aiden’s hair tie, pulling it out of  his hair for him. He feels them pull a few strands of his hair out with the tie, but it’s not anything he can’t handle. “There,” Ara says. They take an adorably serious look at his face and adjust the fall of his hair for him. “Your hair is down now and you're still very pretty.” They nod seriously.

Aiden smiles at them, trying to look shy. “You’re sure?” he asks, surreptitiously taking the tie from their fingers and returning it to his pocket. He reaches a hand up and scrubs his hand through his hair to relieve the itch, then flips his hair to make it all seem entirely vain. “You really think I’m pretty?”

“Abso-positively,” Ara declares. 

He beams at them. “Thank you,” he says. “You’re very pretty too.”

“I know,” Ara says. Aiden chuckles at that answer. “Mama tells me all the time.”

“As she should,” Jaskier says from beside him. 

Ara turns and lights up as if she’s only just now seeing him. “Mister Jaskier! Hi!” Aiden feels movement behind his head that might be them waving at him.

“Hi, Ara,” Jaskier says indulgently. “Have you had a good day today?” He looks down at the waxed paper bag that is now pinned between their body and Aiden’s chest. “What do you have there?” he asks, indicating the bag.

“It was,” they trail off, thinking, “stupendous,” they decide. Oh, Aiden thinks, that’s a five crown word if I ever heard one. “Mama and I had porridge with honey for breakfast and then we walked all the way here from our house and Miss Matilda played Tea Party with me and gave me a whole bag of lemon sweets! Do you want some? They’re yummy.”

“I mean, if they’re yummy…” Jaskier trails off and holds out his hand. Ara obligingly hands him a small fistful of what look like long, thin strips of honey-candied lemon peel.

Jaskier pops one in his mouth and chews. He hums, pleased. “You’re right,” he says, “they are yummy. Do you want to try one, Aiden?”

Ara turns to him and digs a piece of the candy out of the bag, holding it in front of his mouth excitedly before he even gives his answer.

“Sure, I’ll try one,” He says. He takes Ara’s wrist in his hand to hold it still and playfully bites the long bit of peel from their grip to make them laugh. The taste bursts sour-sweet on his tongue as he chews. He craves another just as soon as the first disappears. He can easily see how one could devour an entire bag.

“It’s good, right?” Ara asks. “They’re one of my favorites.” 

“Very good,” Aiden agrees. He lowers his voice to speak conspiratorially. “It reminds me of sneaking sweets just like those out of the Caravan’s pantry behind Spence’s back when I was your age.”

Ara gasps. “And you didn’t get caught? Mama always knows if I’ve been in our cookie jar.” 

“Oh, no,” he says. “It always felt like we were pulling off some super sneaky heist, but I don’t know if we were ever not caught, actually. We rarely ever got in trouble for it though, so we never figured that out until we were much older.”^[26]

“Phooey,” Ara says, frowning. He hears stifled laughs from both Jaskier and Estra “I was hoping you might share your sneakrets.” 

Aiden blinks. “My what?”

“Your sneakrets,” Ara says it like he should definitely already know what that means. “Your sneaky secrets, obviously.” 

“Oh, of course.” Aiden says. “Silly me.”

Aiden hears the creak of hinges and looks to see Hughes finally step out of the house carrying a small coin pouch. 

“Alright you two,” he says. “I’ve got your recompense for all your suffering right here.” He tosses the bag to Jaskier. “Just don’t go blowing it all on loose glitter, you hear?” he says, looking at Jaskier.

“That was one time,” Jaskier complains. 

“And I think I’m still finding glitter where it shouldn’t be,” Hughes returns.

“But I looked amazing,” Jaskier says.

Hughes sighs. “You sure did,” he agrees, “but that was only one of things you did with that glitter.”

“Well,” Jaskier sniffs, “you needn’t worry about me acquiring any more any time soon. I won’t be spending this money on anything.” He passes the pouch to Aiden, who takes it without thinking about it. “It’s Aiden’s money so Aiden will be the one who decides what to do with it.”

Aiden jerks in surprise. The pouch weighs like it contains maybe forty coins, if it isn’t being weighted with rocks. And, for once, Aiden is reasonably confident it isn’t. “Mine? But–”

Jaskier spins around to look at him. “Yes, yours,” he says firmly. “You did all the work, so you get all the coin. That’s fair.”

Aiden can tell that Jaskier is not about to budge. He looks over his shoulder at Hughes to see if he might get any help from that corner.

Hughes shrugs. “That’s the coin I had set aside for whichever boys I could get to agree to split the logs for the bonfire. Usually it takes two or three boys an entire day or so to fill the whole wagon. Frankly, I don’t see why you shouldn’t get the whole lot if you did it all yourself in a few hours. It’s still the same job, and I don’t think you’re about to flake on finishing it, either, so you as may as well take it now.” 

“Thank you! Exactly!” Jaskier agrees.

“Alright,” he relents. Jaskier smiles at him and Aiden has to ask himself if really needs to continue to resist. “But,” Aiden soldiers on, “you suffered out there in the heat all day with me, even if I did most of the work, remember?. You deserve something to make up for that.” He holds out the coin pouch.

Jaskier narrows his eyes at that. He purses his lips. “If I take as much coin as I feel I need to feel adequately compensated for the work I did out of that bag,” he says, “will you agree to accepting however much is left as your share?”

Usually, no. Aiden would never take a deal like that from almost anyone else. It would be a surefire way to get screwed in the end. But he finds himself trusting Jaskier to be fair to him when dividing the coin in the same way he no longer counts the coin Lambert tosses his way after they split a contract.

“Sure,” Aiden agrees. He grins and wiggles the coin pouch at him, coins jangling. “I would say we can shake on it, but,” he says, indicating that his hands are full with both a child still clinging to him and the coin pouch.

“A verbal agreement with witnesses is enough,” Jaskier says. He steps closer to open the coin pouch without relieving it from Aiden's grasp with the air of someone doing something of the utmost import. He reaches in and plucks a single coin from the pouch, holding it up in the air to inspect it. Jaskier nods seriously and places the coin into his own coinpurse. 

Aiden wonders if he’s going to do this for all of them, but the next thing Jaskier does is pull the drawstrings closed on the pouch he’s holding and step back.

“There,” Jaskier says, “that’s my share sorted. What remains is yours.” 

“But that’s not–” Aiden says, struggling to find a word that fits, “–fair.” 

“You did agree to his terms,” Estra interjects, “which were that he decides what both of your shares were. He never said anything about being fair.”

Jaskier smiles cheekily at him. “She’s right. I didn’t.”

Aiden looks between Estra, Hughes, and Jaskier and realizes that he’s not going to be receiving any help on this. He groans and slumps, defeated.

He feels a small hand pat his shoulder. “It’s okay, Mister Aiden,” Ara says. “Do you want another piece of my candy?”

“Yes,” Aiden admits. “I do want another piece of candy.”

Footnotes:

²¹Aiden suspects that Jaskier knows this already. Even if he hadn’t already fallen victim to Jaskier’s charms himself, he could have guessed just from observing his personality. If Aiden can charm information out of maids and wives and the odd stable boy even with his scars and slitted pupils and sharp knives, he’s sure that Jaskier can manage it as well. ^{[return to text]}

²²Lambert understands when Aiden tugs him close and offers to make his problems go away, permanently. When he tells him under cover of darkness that he’ll give him his leash to hold, that it’s already wrapped around his hands, if he’s willing to wield it. When he confesses that there’s no great sin he can imagine Lambert asking of him that he wouldn’t commit. Lambert understands what he means and he’s glad of it, even if he’s less enthusiastic about it than his own Schoolmates would be. But a human? A nice one? One who is unflinchingly kind to what others call freaks and monsters like they can't imagine being hurt? They wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t.^{[return to text]}

²³Just like how he had to allow the little kittens to make their own decisions, the few that he was ever actually able to see. He could tell them it was dangerous, but it was ultimately up to them to follow his advice. Which they often wouldn’t, of course. And trying to grab them usually was more dangerous than just catching them if they fell, so it was often best to just keep an eye on them unless there was more than a very small chance for severe injury. Even if the resulting worry was extremely detrimental to his health. The older Cats always told him he was a right menace growing up, but he never understood what they were talking about until he was a full adult witcher freshly off his first season on the Path and very recently reminded of how fragile humans could be and it was his turn to watch kittens throw themselves off any climbable object like they were damn near invincible.^{[return to text]}

²⁴Of course, if there was a way to Jaskier-proof the wagon, that would be even better than having an amazingly even-tempered mule to hook it to. But if neither the Dyn Marv nor anyone else had found a way to even so much as child-proof a wagon in the many years that they had housed children, then Aiden didn’t have a lot of faith in his ability to come up with something to Jaskier-proof one on the fly. He suspected it would have to be more extreme than whatever measures would be taken to child-proof one at the very least. The best Aiden could do with no notice would be to tie him up in the hopes that it would prevent him from doing anything dangerous; but while he didn’t doubt that Jaskier would make a pretty picture in some creative rigging, he wasn’t entirely sure that it would be effective. Jaskier seemed like he would be a slippery one.^{[return to text]}

²⁵Aiden had been taught grounding techniques since he was old enough to understand what emotions were. Emotional regulation was a skill that was taught in the Caravan with nearly as much emphasis as the more occupationally focused skills of being a witcher. But just as much as they were taught how to control their emotions, they were instructed in not controlling them. The semi-affectionately named Cat Madness ran through each and every one of their veins after they survived their Grasses and it rose up in everyone at unpredictable moments, but it wasn’t always a terrible thing. It was common wisdom among the Cats that trying to fight their mutagens at every turn and keep an iron grip on every emotion would only lead to that control failing when they needed it most. It was wise to give themselves over to the madness in their veins when the consequences were not dire; it was folly to assume they could fight it continuously without fatiguing themselves. The town of Iello was a testament to that.^{[return to text]}

²⁶It was around the same time he found out that Spence really only bothered making and storing those sweets so they could be stolen by the current batch of children running around the Caravan. That, and as a reward for especially good behavior, though good behavior sometimes was defined as whatever Spence wanted them to do, which may not have been considered very good behavior to the rest of the Cats at all. Later, he found out that they were also for Parker, who has a definite sweet tooth. Spence has something going on with her and Alec that Aiden still doesn’t fully understand.^{[return to text]}