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It was a common knowledge that witchers weren’t lovable. They weren’t meant for serious relationship. They weren’t meant for care and affection. There wouldn’t be treated with gentleness. It was making them hardened and stiff on the inside, building walls up, finding comfort in their pack.
And then Eskel got himself a mate.
It was difficult to say who was more surprised – Eskel or the rest of his family. When he was telling them he was actually in a committed relationship, his voice slightly trembled, intonation going slightly up, as if the Wolf didn’t believe his words himself. They were together for two years, separating for a several weeks, but meeting again and again like the moon meets the stars in the night sky.
By the end of their third year together, Eskel brought her to Kaer Morhen. When they arrived, everyone was already waiting for them. Vesemir stashed Eskel’s room with extra furs and wood to keep his human warm enough. Lambert checked and thoroughly cleaned his best shirt. Geralt brushed his silver hair. Basically, everyone did everything they could to give good impression, because Eskel got himself a mate, who was in love with him enough to climb up a fucking mountain to spend the whole winter surrounded by witchers. It was their job now to make sure that the mate wouldn’t run away and regret being with their Wolf.
So, when Eskel and the mate came through the front door, it was only Vesemir to greet them, since the initial plan was not to overwhelm the guest. The old witcher gave his best smile, keeping his movements slow and predictable. Eskel’s mate, Mila, was the same height as Lambert, had hair braided into a thick wheat-colored braid and big bluish eyes with tiny specks of green. She was rather pretty, and both younger wolves were discretely shooting her curious glances throughout the breakfast.
Eskel was nervous, so his pack did what trained warriors did: covered openings. Lambert was telling his best jokes, keeping his mouth in check. Geralt was slightly smiling, making sure to appear as relaxed as possible. Vesemir was politely asking about acceptedly-neutral topics. Mila was also anxious, but she was trying really hard as well.
After the introduction and the first weeks, they all got used to each other. Mila was rather nice. She had a kind character, didn’t mind Lambert’s weird jokes and sharp tongue, wasn’t put off by Geralt’s gruffness and cynicism and put up with Vesemir’s commanding tone. She made them yummy bread, cooked great potato dumplings and baked delicious meat buns. But most importantly - she loved Eskel.
The two of them were surprisingly lovey-dovey with each other, but the Wolves were content: it was great to see that it was possible to have a loving mate. So yeah, they all got really content by the end of the first month, because Eskel was happy, Mila wasn’t begging to leave, and the harmony was established. Lambert started cursing more. Geralt stopped brushing his hair twice a day. Vesemir got back to grumbling and flicking their ears. So yeah, it was all back to normal, but now they had a soft looking person roaming the castle, filling the corridors with laughter and sweet smell of love.
It was all very nice.
Until one day it changed. One day, their carefully crafted peace shattered into pieces. It took them all by surprise, leaving them growling in frustration. The dark cloud sat atop the castle, and the skies were weeping, sharing their common desperation and anguish. The wind howled in the castle corridors, crying out in lament.
Eskel and Mila had a fight.
It was terrible.
Geralt, Lambert and Vesemir were grimly watching how two figures were arguing. They had enough decency not to linger too close to listen, but they still could see their faces. Well, Eskel was more stoic and reserved because, well, a witcher. Mila was not trained to hide her emotions, so the plethora of grimaces looked threatening. Menacing. Unnerving.
Even worse, they abruptly took a step back and went two different ways: Eskel headed to the stables, Mila – to a greenhouse.
The witchers shared a look: they had never seen those two fight. In fact, they didn’t even consider it was possible. Eskel was the gentlest of them, and Mila had lots of tenderness for him. They seemed to compliment each other well, always so considerate toward one another.
And then that.
Unacceptable.
Now, it didn’t matter who was wrong. After all, having a mate was a rarity, so Eskel would have to suck it up and apologize. Maybe, even write a poem. They just needed to make sure that Mila would not break up with him till they convince the idiot to stop dwindling his thumbs and start begging for forgiveness.
After a quick silent conversation, Vesemir went to talk to Mila. Lambert and Geralt went to their brother: Vesemir was better in verbosity, and other two Wolves were ready to provide a few carefully aimed hits to the head for the stupidity to leave. But their combined efforts weren’t as fruitful as they hoped. Apparently, those two lovebirds shared another common trait: stubbornness.
They still blamed Eskel, though.
Anyhow, the situation needed a plan. Strategy. Wit.
So, the three great minds of Kaer Morhen gathered together after lunch, scheming on how to change the situation for the best.
Lambert suggested a prank to make them join forces against a common enemy. Geralt offered to come up with a trap, so that Eskel would have to save his mate. Vesemir was thinking about locking the two of them in a cupboard till they talk it out. Each idea had its upsides and downsides, and the Wolves couldn’t decide which one was best. However, the time was running out, and the two boneheads weren’t talking to each other.
The general agreement was that desperate times required desperate measures. The matters of heart needed boldness and good timing. So, they decided to go all out, not wanting to risk Mila changing her mind and Eskel exacerbating the fight further. After all, it would be for the best.
Lambert messed in their bedroom, putting on Mila’s dress and Eskel’s red jacket. He also stole a few books, a thick pair of woolen socks and poured questionably smelling potion on man’s underwear. It was not like he was bad at pulling pranks, but Lambert was also panicking, alright? His brother’s love was under threat, and the idiot was not doing shit to fix that. Instead of falling to his knees and promising to hunt a bear, the moron was talking to his goat. Good thing he had the pack to keep an eye on him, otherwise he’d be stuck talking to the damn animal forever. Fuck.
When it became evident that neither of the two was coming back to the bedroom, Geralt decided that it was his turn to act.
With admirable discretion, the witcher calmed a couple of hens from a pen with Axii and carried them to the greenhouse. He quietly looked for the woman, hiding behind the door. Having spotted a not-so-happy-looking victim, Geralt released the birds and ordered them into attacking her. The chickens ran, angrily flopping their wings, beaks ready to gauge eyeballs out.
Mila shuddered, obviously startled by the noise. After the initial shock, she grabbed a broom from the corner and scared the enraged hens into submission.
Fuck.
Geralt frowned, wondering why his plan failed, when it was so perfectly crafted.
Then, Mila lifted her head and looked straight into his face. Her eyes narrowed, and lips thinned.
Fuck. Fuck.
In a blink of an eye, Geralt ran off, leaving fresh trails in the snow. He could hear angry squawking of the chickens behind his back. He spotted Eskel, staring at him suspiciously and mouthing something along: “The fuck?”
The sun was already low, and Mila had to get back to the castle, where Vesemir was preparing their afternoon tea with sweet cinnamon bread. The three conspirators were watching where she would sit, but the woman just went passed the kitchen and opened the door.
“Where are you going?” Lambert shouted, startling the fragile peace.
“To the springs,” she answered frowning. “Why?”
“Nothing,” he mumbled. “Thought you’d have tea with us.”
“I will, but I want to get clean first,” Mila shrugged her shoulders. “Or should I expect more angry birds there, Geralt?”
“No,” the white-haired witcher bravely held his ground and didn’t even flinch.
“What?” Eskel put down the dough he was making for dumplings and eyed them suspiciously. “What did you do?”
Geralt and Lambert shared a look, changing their plan in a second.
“Yeah, I did it. Threw a couple of chickens at your woman,” he provided, puffing his chest and getting ready to escalate things.
“Real asshole, right?” Lambert quipped, not falling much behind. Vesemir drew a very tired breath behind Eskel’s back, but stayed vigilant.
“Hm.”
“Why would you do that?” Eskel frowned. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You don’t like it, do you?” Lambert supplied helpfully, smirking from ear to ear.
“I wanted to cheer her up,” Geralt retorted, shifting in his chair. “She seemed down.”
“How is that supposed to cheer her up?”
“She likes animals, don’t you, Mila?”
“But he obviously crossed the line, didn’t he?”
“Shut it, Lamb.”
“Thought it’d work. You should’ve seen her squeal. You should’ve seen yourself.”
“Thanks,” Mila crossed her arms, scowling at all three of them.
“Apologize to her. Now.”
“No.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“He said no.”
“I sure did.”
Eskel growled. Geralt raised his chin. Lambert preened. Vesemir tensed.
Mila let out a sob and escaped, her quick steps echoing through the empty passages.
Eskel drew a deep breath. Geralt frowned, shoulders twitched. Lambert cursed. Vesemir flattened his beard.
Eskel started walking to the door, behind which distressed Mila disappeared. If he was a different man, he would say something like “You just had to make it worse, do you?” or “Now you’ve done it”, but Eskel was a bigger man than them (that was why he already had a great mate), so he walked off, leaving the rest of them in the kitchen in uncomfortable silence.
“Well, at least, they got a common enemy now,” Lambert mused, taking a sip of his tea.
“You think?” Vesemir quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Yeah, well,” Geralt rubbed his neck, still frowning. “He’s consoling her now, so it should be a matter of time.”
“And we can apologize later, when they are back to being saps around each other. But damn, was it tough.”
“He’s our brother. We have to watch his back for him, no matter what.”
Geralt and Lambert saluted each other with their cups of tea, content at solving the problem. Vesemir still had his doubts, but it did seem to work, so he decided that it was best to leave the lovers to reconcile in peace. By the dinner, their small family would be fine again, no broken hearts.
That was why wolves were pack animals and Wolves were like a family.
Quick, professional, efficient. Adapting to the situation for the best solution.
Both men preened at Vesemir’s praise and approval. They drank the tea, relishing the break between the cooking and enjoying the end of whatever the squabble was. Mila and Eskel were finally back together, and all thanks to them, because apparently the lovebirds were too dense to deal with it themselves.
Oh well.
The trio drank to love and happy ending and went on with making dinner.
The dinner came. Mila was not there yet, Eskel neither. Lambert and Geralt frowned: something was not right. Finally, the door to the kitchen opened, and the scarred witcher appeared, scowling so much, it got everyone worried.
“You alone?” Lambert unceremoniously inquired, voice low and slightly off.
“She’s still upset.” Eskel replied, leaning against the doorframe.
“Did you apologize?” Geralt squinted at him.
“Did I apologize?!”
“You argued with her! Can’t you suck it up and-”
“Fuck you, Lamb! I’m not the one who made her fucking cry!”
“That’s enough! Tell us what’s this all about.” Vesemir raised his bushy eyebrows.
“She’s upset because she thinks you all hate her. The two of you, I mean,” Eskel supplied rather unhelpfully, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“The fuck?!”
“Well, for all she knows, after we had had a spat, our room got wrecked and, you, Geralt, threw fucking chickens at her. And then, all three of us fought during the tea, and she thinks it’s all because of her. That you’re giving her shit for arguing with me. How’s that?”
“That’s bullshit! Not fucking true!”
“That’s not what we were doing.”
“What were you doing, huh?” Eskel glared at them, still not joining the table.
“We were helping!” Lambert proudly announced, though deflated by the end. “Well, we were trying to help.”
“We figured that if you two should be angry at one of us, not at each other.” Geralt nodded, nervously tapping at the table.
“You’re so fucking perfect together,” Lambert said as if that explained everything.
“We saw you fighting, and we didn’t want you to split up,” Vesemir finally butt in, stroking his prominent moustache.
Eskel snorted in disbelief, incredulous look in his amber eyes. “What made you think we were splitting up?”
“Well, we assumed- I mean-” Lambert looked at the other men for help.
“The fight seemed intense, and then you suddenly went the opposite directions,” Geralt, as the good older brother he was, came to his rescue.
“Yeah. Seemed pretty final to me.”
“To me, too.”
“And since you’re both so- so-”
“Right.”
“-right for each other, we couldn't just stand and watch you ruin you fucking chances!”
“Ruin my chances?”
“You think it’s fucking easy to find someone, anyone, for the likes of us? You’re such a fucking idiot, oh I swear, she should just-”
“Okay, Lamb, he gets it.”
“He fucking doesn’t! You couldn’t fix it, so we did it for you! We just didn’t think Mila’d get stressed that much!”
There was no answer, just Eskel looking at them like they suddenly exploded on the spot. Finally, he drew a very deep, a very calming breath and sighed.
“We did have a fight. She didn’t leave me, though, and neither did I.”
“Then, why-”
“Because we were so pissed, we decided to take some space to cool down to have a calmer conversation later.” Eskel shrugged his shoulders, looking exhausted and slightly defeated.
“Oh.”
“Oh indeed.”
“Go talk to her, boys. Bring her food, too.” Vesemir tiredly rubbed his neck. “I’ll have a chat with her later.”
Eskel dislodged himself from the doorframe and, with a final sigh, disappeared into the corridor. His Wolf brothers were grimly walking behind him, guiltily glancing at the man in front of them.
After clearing the misunderstanding and apologizing, they left the lovebirds together to lick the wounds. The next day, Lambert woke up and couldn’t find any clothes in his bedroom. Geralt, on the other hand, was surrounded by chickens, slumbering under Axii and bespelled into waking the moment he got up from the bed.
The only one who was left unharmed was Vesemir, thanking himself for not participating and wondering how it could have ended differently had they went with his idea.
But well.
At least, Mila was content. Eskel was, too.
Maybe, he should make some meat buns.
To compensate for the stress.