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Geralt decided to begin his trip to Kaer Morhen earlier than the others years. If going to the castle wasn’t a problem for a Witcher, Jaskier was still human. And mid-autumn was as good as any other times. It still wasn’t too cold and the wood wasn’t to damp yet. So, yes. They were on their way to the Wolf Den.
“I still can’t believe you’re taking me to your home! I’m so excited! I can’t wait to meet your dad and your brothers! Do you think they will like me? Should I cut down my singing? Do you have a place where I can play and sing without disturbing this witchery hearing of yours? Do you...” Geralt took Jaskier’s hands in his.
“They will love you. I’m afraid that they’re going to stole you from me…
- No way! You’ll always be my favorite wolf!” The bard said, looking at his hands. During their little get-away at the coast, the words “best friend” appeared on Jaskier’s hands, written in the same golden that the Witcher’s eyes. There, surrounded by a cartouche (a very well done one, with flowers patterns, dandelions and gueules-de-loup1), covering both hands, was the words that Jaskier hoped for more than 20 years (well, to be honest, there’s another word that he wanted but it was a good start, right?). Stylized words were more “valuable” than simple words because it’s not a simple passing thought; because, unless he screw up very very badly, it was made to stay bright and clear forever. Others words faded with time. Not these ones.
‘Soon, very soon.’ told Geralt to himself. ‘Soon, I will tell you what do you mean to me.’
They resumed their trip and after a few days, went through the doors of the old fortress.
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The first Jaskier met was Vesemir, obviously. The old wolf was friendly enough and didn’t make Jaskier feel like an intruder but he was wary. And Jaskier understood why. Witchers have been betrayed too often to not be wary.
“May I ask you a personal question, Vesemir?
- Ask, I’ll see if I can answer.
- Did you ever had a lover?” Vesemir was lost in thoughts for a minute but decided to answer.
“I had someone, decades ago. Her name was Mignole. We met in Oxenfurt but her father learned about us and I had to depart quickly. I just forgot my…
- … gambeson?
- Yes. How do you know?
- She married the Count de Stael and became a widow when their second child, a girl, was 5 months’ old. This girl married the viscount of Lettenhove and had a son...” Jaskier made a very exaggerated bow “… yours truly.
- You’re Mignole’s grandson?
- Wait, the Countess de Stael is your grandmother? I thought she was one of your lover?
- I wanted to know if I could make you jealous! And I love my grandmother very much! Obviously, not in any intimate way. Eww!” Jaskier made a face just for thinking that and Vesemir snorted.
“Yes, that is a very Mignole thing to do. She gave you her love for dramatics!
- And Witchers, apparently!” Jaskier closed quickly his mouth and his cheeks won a faint shade of pink. “Well, I’m going to the library to do… stuff. See you later!
- Ah! Exactly like his grandmother!
- You never talked about her or any romantic interest.
- I was, and still am, pretty dumb about things like that. I thought that, if I put her memory aside, I would be able to walk the Path feelingless, like before. I thought it would be better and that I wouldn’t be bothered by everything she made me feel but…
- It’s worse. Because we still love them but we don’t know if they’re well or not. When we were with them, we can keep an eye on them, we can protect them. But the unknown of not knowing is unbearable. You imagine everything and it’s worse every time. Maybe you could ask Jaskier where to find her and, at least, put your mind, and probably hers, at peace.
- I will do that. I should have known that your bard was related to my Mignole when you told us that you never felt fear coming from him.
- Not even potioned up. Dark eyes, pale skin and everything and I still don’t smell anything close to fear coming from him.
- Don’t loose time Geralt. Enjoy everyday with him. I know that if Mignole still want that old man, I’ll enjoy every moment with her.
- I won’t. I just wait for the perfect time and I think it’s soon.” Vesemir patted Geralt on his back and went to the library to talk with his love’s grandson.
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Lambert was the second Jaskier met.
“You’re Geralt’s bard, right? Jaskier?
- Indeed and you are... covered in guts. What the hell is this?
- Huh, just some Kikimore who got out of the old mine…
- Well, you can’t certainly stay covered in Kikimore's guts. I won’t allow it.” To Lambert’ surprise, Jaskier took his (covered in guts) hand and lead them to the hot springs. “I will help you out of your armor but don’t worry I won’t take a peek when you will get out of your breeches.
- Aw! Don’t worry, you can take a look at the finest Witcher’ specimen if you want.
- I already took a look at Geralt.” Lambert opened and closed his mouth like a fish and laughed.
“I like you, little bird!
- When you’re finished, I want you in the little bath by the cascatelle.
- Huh?
- The little cascade.
- OK!
…
- I’m done!” Lambert didn’t remember the last time someone took the time to help him during a bath, to make him feel cared for. ‘Sure, Geralt is a lucky bastard!’ Jaskier first took off all the Kikimore's guts, then, once Lambert got out, he was checked over for injuries and got a sneak peek of Healer!Jaskier. Meaning the bard would complain about Witchers and their inability to stay out of trouble, and to put themselves and their well being in the background, and to make him worried and Lambert just nodded. It was the safest option. Jaskier went upstairs to found Lambert clean clothes.
“I like your bard, brother.” Geralt stepped out his hiding spot.
“I do hope so. Winters would be weird otherwise.
- You’re so lucky. I wish I have someone like him on the Path. You take care of him, you hear me. Or I’ll steal him from you!
- Do not worry. Nothing but the best for my bard. I’m, after all, the finest Witcher’ specimen.” Lambert threw a towel at Geralt while cursing him.
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Eskel was the last. They bonded over their love of music and knowledge in general. And for gossip. Especially for gossip. You could hear them whispering and almost… giggling… like teenage girls.
“Well, Valdo Marx is an insufferable moron. He think music should be the privilege of a few, when I want to share my music with everyone! ‘a talentless wastrel who panders to the taste of the masses’, that what he said about me. I’m proud to be liked by the masses.
- He looks like the sort of using and abusing their favors to stay at the top.
- Yes, but I’m happy to say he’s starting to crumble. He was insulting me in front of some of the professors and students of Oxenfurt during one of his lecture but my darling apprentice just shut him up.
- You have an apprentice?
- Had. She had her mastery 5 years ago. But, like I said, she told Marx that I was a better musician and singer than him and, since she was my apprentice, she provoked him in a lyrical duel for slandering my good name. This asshole couldn’t get out of it since he was insulting me publicly, he had to accept the challenge. They had one week to compose a song and let me tell you, Valdo Marx is very bad at composing. More often than not, he would took a little bit from here and there; not enough to have it labeled plagiarism though. Madeleine swept the floor with him. Valdo’s problem is that he complicates things a lot to give them the appearance of sophistication. Maddy did a simple song but with a marvelous voice range.
- Where you there?
- No, but I spent my previous winters at Oxenfurt, mostly. And I’m one of the most beloved teacher here. I had at least 20 students in the first two days telling me about it. I can sing the song to you, if you want, but I can go high enough to hurt your hearing.
- Do not worry, I’ll tell you if it’s too much.
- Les oiseaux dans la charmille (The birds in the bower)
Dans les cieux l'astre du jour, (In the skies, the star of the day)
Tout parle à la jeune fille d'amour! (Everything speaks to the girl of love!)
Ah! Voilà la chanson gentille (Ah ! This is the nice song)
La chanson d'Olympia! Ah! (Olympia’s song! Ah!)
Tout ce qui chante et résonne (All that sings and resounds)
Et soupire, tour à tour, (And sighs, in turn)
Émeut son cœur qui frissonne d'amour! (Move her heart which shivers with love!)
Ah! Voilà la chanson mignonne (Ah ! This is the cute song)
La chanson d'Olympia! (Olympia’ song!)
- That’s nice. And you didn’t hurt my ears so… What is it called?
- ‘The doll’s song’ or ‘les oiseaux dans la charmille’. Madeleine is from Toussaint so, she wrote it in her native language. Last I’ve heard, she wrote a freaking opera around this song. She probably will sent an invitation for myself and Geralt and for all of you too, if I’m not mistaken.
- Us? Why?
- I’ve talked a lot about Geralt but also, what I knew about you. So, obviously, my darling student want to meet Witchers. She’ll probably pester one or all of you until you accept to let her tag along for at least a year.
- She… She want to follow one of us?
- Of course, why not?
- You know that you’re the only one who don’t fear us, right?
- And my grandmother.
- And your grandmother.
- I’m pretty sure, she’s not going to fear you. You’ll see!
- We’ll see.” Eskel whistled the doll’s song every time he was alone.
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It was a treat, for Jaskier and Geralt, to take a bath together. But, it was something they enjoyed very much. Scrubbing each other back, massaging scalp and shoulders and just relaxing. Shyness was forgotten since their first year together and Jaskier was leaning against Geralt, his arms circling the bard. They were peaceful. And Geralt sighted in contentment. And he saw, just in front of him, a word forming on Jaskier’s back. Taking the form of a howling wolf’s head was the word ‘Soulmate’.
“You have a new word.
- Really, what is it?
- It has a specific form.” Jaskier tensed.
“What form? What color? What word, Geralt?
- A wolf, golden, soulmate.
- It’s real, right? This is really happening? I’m not dreaming.
- You’re not dreaming. I love you. I love you so much.” Jaskier turned around and forced Geralt’s to look at him in the eyes.
“My wolf, I’ve loved you for so long. You don’t know how happy I’m right now, because this word is the proof that the one I put on your back is reciprocated. Don’t look so surprised, my wolf. It’s a lark, cornflower blue, formed by the word soulmate.” Geralt’s smile was astonishing and the kiss they shared was sweet and slow and full of love.