*Lute Strumming in the Distance*

She was beauty.  She was not just beautiful, she was the very definition of it.  Even her breathing was filled with elegance.  Her smooth skin mimicked the finest of silks that only royalty could ever imagine to afford.  The way her hair complimented the tones within her face was almost unreal.  Her features appeared cheerful almost always, no matter the situation, positivity leaking from each and every pore…..so why and how was it possible that a man like Geralt of Rivia could fall for her?  He was the complete and utter opposite; rugged, rough skinned, quiet, constantly thinking of the dangers that fill the Continent, often dirty, and skilled in combat.  Yet, despite all of this, she was the very sun in his sky, the stars to his moon, the flower to his soil, the…..you get the idea.  The problem with this, however, was that she had not a single clue that he felt this way for her, completely oblivious to his undying love for her.  All they seemed to be at this point were oblivious, emotionally constipated, and…….idiots.  Complete idiots.  Any onlooker could see that this was not a simply platonic relationship.  Come on, the two were living together!  And they had been for almost a year now!  So anyways, here we are.  The ever so odd tale of Geralt of Rivia and his……roommate.

The spotless wooden dining table Geralt had taken a seat at within Y/N’s cottage kitchen was almost buckling underneath his mass and the weight of his bulky armor.  The dirt covering his arms and legs were surely destroying the cleanliness of it.  He had just returned from a hunt that turned out to be a large group of villagers playing a trick just so they could get a chance at seeing the witcher in action.  Geralt quickly realized this but not before he lost his footing and tripped over a partially buried root in the forest, rolling down a long and bumpy hill.  Way to add insult to injury, universe.  

Quietly grumbling curses under his breath, he did his best not to disturb the cheerful humming of Y/N, who was chopping up carrots for a stew she planned to make.  Or more so attempting.  The blade on the knife was terribly dull.  Her cooking escapades had clearly taken a toll on the tool.  It was all she had, so she had to make it work.  Although, Geralt couldn’t help but find the sight amusing.  Geralt’s eyes blinked rapidly and his posture straightened as if a light bulb had just gone off in his head.  That’s it!  He knows how he will profess his love!  This is quite possibly the most romantic action a witcher could do!  He suddenly stood from the table with determination, almost a little too fast, startling Y/N.

“Where are you going?  You just got back.”  Y/N questioned Geralt as he made his way to the door.

“I uh….need to go into town.  I….forgot something.”  He pathetically tried to come up with an excuse to hide his true intentions.  

Before another word can leave Y/N’s mouth, Geralt was out the door and on his way to who knows where.  She shrugged her shoulders and continued to shred—cut the vegetables on her cutting board.  

Geralt loved and hated the fact that her cottage was practically in the middle of nowhere.  It left them unbothered and with privacy but he still found himself annoyed that he had to trek through a grove and winding dirt paths just to get into town.  He chuckled lightly as he came across a root hiding in the ground of his walking path.

“Hmm….not this time.”

Less than ten minutes later, Geralt began to approach a river.  He was getting close.  

“Thank the gods it’s not raining.”  He said to himself.

The universe, being the absolute pain in Geralt’s ass, decided that sunshine and no rain was much too easy for the dear witcher.  Why not throw a……minor?  Yes, minor inconvenience his way, instead of allowing him to just walk his way into town and back smoothly.  No, no, that would not do.  

“Behold, witcher man!  For I am Wulfgar, and I am here to take your coin!”  A loud, high pitched male voice yelled out.

Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed and he turned around in the direction of the voice.  What he sees is not what he was expecting.  Standing ten feet before him stood a short statured man donning a green tunic and matching pants that were just a smidge too tight.  A green pointed hat sat upon his bowl cut hair.  A fashion expert, honestly.

Pointed towards Geralt was his embarrassingly small silver dagger.  Confidence somehow oozed out of the mysterious bandit as he chose to lunge forward without strategy or thought.  Because of the overwhelming bewilderment the witcher was experiencing, he jumped backwards just a hair too slow, resulting in the coin pouch at his hip being slashed open.  Just as luck would have it, half of his coins were dumped into the river.  Geralt grunted and unsheathed his sword, four times the size of the measly dagger Wulfgar wielded.  

“Back off.”  Geralt warned.

“Uh, uh….I…..I mean no harm, witcher.  It’s….just a tough time, you know?  So um…anyway…..please don’t um…..KILL ME!!!!!!!!”  Wulfgar stammered and ran away.

“I uh….okay.”  Geralt rolled his eyes and put his sword back into its holder.  “Fuck!”  He reached down to his coin pouch, coins were still slowly spilling out onto the ground.  Like a beggar, he scoured the ground to pick up and salvage every last one.

Geralt considered turning back but brushed the thought off, knowing he couldn’t show up back at the cottage empty handed after he told Y/N he was going out.  That wouldn’t make sense and it would only lead to more questions that he wasn’t currently prepared to answer.  Instead, he began to think about how much of an idiot he was for believing this could work.  Of course Y/N would never love him.  He couldn’t even do this one self appointed task.  Useless.  

“Fuck.”  Having a way with words, he cursed and treaded forward, feeling light raindrops begin to hit his skin and dampen his hair.  What else could go wrong?

A short time later a now drenched Geralt waltzes into town square.  The place is growing more and more quiet as he notices people rushing inside and merchants packing up the items at their stalls to avoid the increasing rain.  Fearing that he missed his chance to come up with anything, he sprints towards the last remaining merchant.  

“Wait!”  He shouted.  

The merchant looked up to him, eyes widening at his appearance.  “Sorry, the rain is bringing all of us in for the day.  Come back tomorrow.”  The merchant went to turn away and continue packing without giving Geralt a second thought.

“Please, just….show me what you have.”  Geralt pleaded with the man, hoping there is at least one item that even remotely resembled what he was looking for.

The merchant’s eyes narrowed and he stared in silence for a moment.  “Witchers pay double.”  He crossed his arms and stood firm.

Of course, because that’s exactly what he needed to hear after losing half of his wealth to the murky fast flowing waters of the river.

“Fine.”  Geralt gritted his teeth, ready for the excursion to be over.

The merchant moved aside so Geralt could look at what his options were.  His eyes examined the items laid out in front of him.  There were four rolls of twine, a mysterious piece of cloth that appeared to have been white at some point during its existence, two cabbage heads that had been massacred by the wind and rain, rendering them inedible, and…..a knife!  Just what he was looking for!  A perfect kitchen knife to aid his one true love with her cooking!  She shall never fret or strain her wrist again!  He would wrap it in the softest of cloths and bend on one knee, hand stretched out, ready to release all of his pent up emotions and—

He realized it was in fact not a kitchen knife, but a dagger.  A deep sigh escaped the witcher.  It was a slightly rusted short dagger that was surely made for simple combat.  A.k.a not something he originally planned on giving his soft ray of sunshine back at home to help her cook.

“How much coin for this?”  Geralt held up the so-called weapon.

The merchant eyes his torn coin pouch.  “Whatever you’ve got left.”

And so goes the last of his coin.

On his way back to Y/N’s cottage, Geralt is in a constant battle with his thoughts, telling himself over and over that he should not have gone out, how he wasn’t worthy of her love, how she could do so much better than him.  How could he think it was a good idea to bring her a dagger that she didn’t need or even ask for?  Especially one in a not so tip top shape condition.  

Naturally, his one person conversation is interrupted by none other than…..Wulfgar.

“Now, witcher!”  Wulfgar shouted.  “I’ve got friends this time!  And they have bigger swords than I!  You will come to regret the last hour, mutant.  You should have simply given me your coin!”  

Three of the humans making up Wulfgar’s makeshift army came up behind Geralt in an attempted sneak attack and managed to snag the one sword he brought along with him, having left the other behind to be sharpened later on in the day.  The witcher positioned himself into a defensive stance, looking at his surroundings.  He counted six men in the group, all funnily enough sporting the same puke green outfits like they were part of some wannabe cult.  The only thing left that he had besides his fists and signs to defend himself against the five swords and Wulfgar’s short stub was…..the dagger.  

First, he fought off the three men who took his sword, one jumping on his back and immediately being thrown onto the ground, the second being knocked unconscious with a single punch.  He took out the third using the Aard sign, knocking him against a tree.  Two more men came running at him, swinging their swords haphazardly through the air, praying that one of them would draw blood from the witcher.  The men however were very much unaware of their….lacking skills and were disarmed easily and knocked out.  

Geralt then turned to Wulfgar, the last man standing.  He was practically shaking in his boots, having just watched all of his friends fail miserably at taking down the witcher.  After a moment, he bends down and picks up two of the swords left on the ground.  He lunged forward again and this time nicked Geralt’s face, also slicing off a thin piece of leather covering his shoulder for extra protection.  He looked to the side at his ruined shoulder piece and looked back at Wulfgar.  He stepped forward slowly with an intimidating aura bouncing off of him.  Wulfgar was stopped dead in his tracks in disbelief that he just made contact with the witcher.  With one swift motion, Geralt swipes the sword out of the bandit’s hand, causing him to lose his balance and fall onto the ground.  

“Uh….uh….uh Mr. Witcher, please.”  Wulfgar started to stammer.

“You will stay away.  Or I will kill you where you stand.”  Geralt warned, bearing his teeth.

Wulfgar was left in shock, eyes wide and not blinking as he watched Geralt start to walk away.  Somewhere in his tiny little brain, the idea of trying one last time to win overtook rational thought.  He pulled out a small throwing knife that had been hidden in his pant leg, aimed, and threw it at Geralt.  Just as how the rest of the day had gone for him, the knife sticks in his shoulder directly in the spot where his leather had been cut away.  All Wulfgar hears is a short grunt from him and before he knows it, Geralt grabbed the dagger he purchased and sunk it into his thigh.  

“FUCK YOU, WITCHER!!!  YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!!!  YOU AND YOUR…..YOUR STUPID HAIR WILL REGRET THIS!!!”  Wulfgar screamed and was attempting to army crawl away.  “AND….AND YOU KNOW WHAT?!?  YOUR MOTHER IS A WHORE!!!”

Geralt rolled his eyes at the empty insult attempts and once again continued his journey back to Y/N’s cottage, bloody dagger in hand.  Oh man, he fucked up.

Once outside her cottage, he stopped and took a deep breath.  What the hell just happened?  He started off his day sitting at her kitchen table waiting for dinner and then boom, he’s wielding a dagger he bought for her and used it to stab someone after he beat up six people.  Ah, yes, the unpredictable life of a witcher.  

Finally, he opened the door to Y/N’s cottage.

“Geralt!  Where have you been?  I thought you were just going to market?  Did you take shelter from the rain?  And did you–”  Y/N cut off her own string of questions.  “Is that a cut on your face?”  She stopped cooking the food she was still attempting to make and ran over to him.

“Oh….yeah….”  Geralt responded, still standing in front of the door.

“What happened?!?”  She reached up to touch his face but his head jerked away on instinct, causing her to pull her hand back.  “Geralt….where did you go?”

“I….went to town square.”

“Yes, but…..Geralt.  Your face is cut, you have no supplies from any stall, your coin pouch is gone,”  Y/N pointed to his hip where the pouch once was.  “and….your pocket is….bleeding.”

“Oh…..yeah…..that’s probably from…..this.”  Geralt said quietly, slowly pulling out the dagger he bought for her.

At this point, Y/N has no idea what to say to him.  He said he was going to market, then came back with nothing but a bloody dagger and blood on his skin?  What happened to his coin???  A hundred questions ran through her mind as she stood there in silence, eyes locked onto the dagger in his hands.  

“I….got it for your cooking.”  Geralt broke the silence.

“My….cooking?”  She repeated.

“Yes.  Earlier you looked like you were having….issues cutting the food for your stew and I was just watching you struggle sitting there thinking about what I could do to fix it and how I could make you have an easier time and—”

“Geralt.”

“What?”

“What are you talking about?”  Y/N asked, still dumbfounded.

Geralt stayed silent for a minute, trying to rake over his options.  Should he tell her not to worry about it and walk away for the night?  Should he brush it off as just trying to help with her cooking?  No.  That wouldn’t explain why he had no coin and was decorated with blood.  He started to ponder whether he was ready to risk it all or not…….it was time.

“Y/N…..please accept this gift as a token of my love…..”  His eyes darted off to the side.  “For….uh….you.”  

As if the situation couldn’t get anymore confusing or awkward, Geralt reached out to hand her the dagger laid out on both of his palms.  She wrapped her hands in her sleeve and took it out of his hands.  A moment of uncomfortable silence passed as the two stared at each other.

“Geralt, this is a dagger.”  Y/N said firmly.  “And it….it has blood on it.”

Geralt stood there speechless, fully taking in that he just confessed to someone with a bloody dagger that neither of them needed or wanted.

“Listen, I tried to get you something you could use every day and help you but this fool of a man made me lose half my coin and then it started raining so the merchants started to leave and I saw that and figured it was close enough to a kitchen knife so I bought it but then on my way back I ran into the same dumbass but he brought friends this time and—”

In the middle of his rambling, Y/N had set the dagger on a nearby surface.  She then cut off his borderline incoherent thoughts by grabbing his face and pushing her lips onto his, creating an intense first kiss between them.  She eventually pulled away to examine the face of the confused as heck Geralt.  That….was the last thing he expected to actually happen.  Did….did his dumbass plan work?

“You’ve felt for me all this time?”  Y/N asked, hands still cupping Geralt’s face.

“Mhm.”

A huge grin spread across her face.  “You fought off a gang of men, almost got killed, trudged through the cold rain, lost all your coin, and came home covered in blood…..just to get me something that might help me a few times a day?”

Geralt ran a hand through his hair and laughed at himself, listening to Y/N sum up all of his day’s fuckery.  She was correct.  He did all of that just to bring home the wrong thing.  

“I guess….I just love you.”  

“You guess?”  Y/N prodded.

Geralt’s face softened.  “I love you.”

“I love you too, Geralt.  Now, kiss me again.”  

“My pleasure.”  The witcher smiled and kissed her once again.

It was a terrible, stupid, horrible, foolish plan………and it worked.

The days of empty coin pouches, grumbling stomachs, and dark under eye circles seemed to be never ending for Geralt and Jaskier.  Four days of hopelessly wandering through massive swamps and wooded lands and still nothing.  Not a single contract was in sight for the two traveling companions.  Every hour that passed without a hint of a hunt sucked out a little bit more of their withering spirits.  The clouded greyness that blanketed the skies for days on end paralelled the two men.

“I’m pretty sure my boots are more mud than shoes now, Geralt.”  Jaskier sighed, walking along the plain dirt path next to Geralt and Roach, seemingly going nowhere.

“We’ll get somewhere eventually, Jaskier.  Be patient.”  Geralt instructed.

“Easy for you to say.  You’ve been sitting pretty up there atop good ol’ Roach this whole time.  I’ve been getting my feet wet in rivers and bogs and trudging through god knows what.”  Jaskier stopped momentarily to peek at the bottom of his stained boot, grimacing at the sight of what he thought could be rat excrement.

“Sitting pretty?”  Geralt glared at Jaskier, only getting a shrug of his shoulders in response.  “If leather chafing against your thighs is considered sitting pretty, then yes, I’m in fact sitting pretty.  Takes a toll on the thighs, idiot.”

“Your thighs….right.”  Jaskier mumbled.

After three hours of hiking through that same unremarkable dirt path, a small torch light became visible past the edge of a wooden post fence straight ahead of them.  Geralt stopped Roach in her tracks to scan the surrounding area.  Nothing except for the warm glowing light illuminating what seemed to be a lonely tavern was around.  They were nowhere near a village or bustling city; quite literally in the middle of nowhere.  Yet, there the dilapidated looking box-shaped building stood.  

“Let’s stop here for food and drink.  If we’re lucky, we’ll secure a room for the night.  It’s better than nothing.”  Geralt suggested.

“Oh!  I wonder if they have a metal tub I could wash my boots in!”  Jaskier exclaimed.  

“You’re more concerned about your dirty attire rather than not dying of thirst or starvation?”  Geralt asked.

“No, I’m more concerned about the mud and monster guts replacing my foot skin, Geralt.”

A few moments later, the pair reached the front of the building.  Without a second thought, Jaskier flung the obnoxiously creaking wooden door to the tavern, earning a couple of startled looks from the patrons inside enjoying meals, drinks, and random conversation.  Feeling a little nervous from the unexpected staring, he subconsciously tightened the straps holding his prized lute against his back.

“Keep that thing put away.  We’re here to relax.”  Geralt shot Jaskier a knowing look as he stepped in front of him to take the lead.

“I didn’t even do or say anything.  The only sound that came out of me was the roar of my suffering stomach.”  Jaskier defended.

“You didn’t have to, I know you.”

“We’ll see, though.  Who knows how the rest of the night will go.  Who’s to say they won’t get bored?”  Jaskier grinned.

“Exactly.”  Geralt sighed heavily.

The two men strolled up to the front bar counter and found themselves two empty barstools.  Much to Geralt’s dismay, they were right next to each other.

“Evening.  We’ll take two ales and two plates of whatever your best meat is.”  Geralt said flatly.

“For you, witcher, one ale and one platter of grilled pork and bread will be one hundred coins.  For you, sir,”  The barmaid turned to Jaskier.  “It will be fifty coins.”  The hefty plump woman returned her gaze to Geralt, her sunken brown eyes locked onto his bright yellow irises.

“Fine.”  Geralt grumbled.

“What?  We’re getting the same thing, miss.  No reason his should be absurdly priced.”  Jaskier chimed in, Geralt shooting him a glare.  “His should be fifty coins as is mine, for a TOTAL of one hundred.”  Jaskier’s body was now half standing and hunched partially over the bar counter.

“Pay, or get lost.”  The barmaid snapped, her arms crossing in front of her chest.

As if a lightbulb went off in Jaskier’s head, his face lit up with joy and he stood fully upright, twirling his figure around once with his pointer finger up in the air, resembling a ballerina.  Geralt watched blinkless, bewildered why he still chose to allow this fool of a man to join him throughout his travels and adventures.  The feeling of regret was overwhelming.  He knew better than to assume Jaskier would stay quiet for the night.

“Jaskier!”  Geralt raised his voice, teeth clenched tightly together.

“You see this lute here…uh….”  Jaskier paused.

“Sonya.”  The barmaid said, irritation laced in her voice.

“Sonya!!  A gorgeous name if I do say so myself!”  He bowed in front of her.  “I have quite the proposition for you!  Say, I am well versed in song and an expert when it comes to strumming this lute in tones that could bring a grown man to tears.  If I provide tonight's entertainment and turn your guests frowns into glorious smiles, how about you let us off the hook, yeah?”

Geralt sat on his barstool silently, shocked at his partner's words, yet at the same time not surprised even slightly at his general antics.  His back was still turned to Jaskier, afraid he would be asked to back him up if he met with his shining face.

“After all,”  Jaskier added.  “Happy and entertained guests are more likely to tip, aren’t they?”  He winked at Sonya.

Sonya stood silent for a minute contemplating, arms never uncrossing.  Her gaze reached Geralt’s several times, each time he was glaring daggers at her.  

“Fine.”  Sonya said sternly.  “But!!”  Her finger pointed directly at Jaskier’s face.  “If you mess this up in any way or cause trouble, you will be tossed out into the cold with bloody faces and hollow stomachs.”

Jaskier laughed loudly, clapping his hands together while Geralt had his head facing downward, resting on the two fingers that were pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fear not, Geralt!  When have I ever been known to cause trouble?”  Jaskier asked, placing a hand on Geralt’s shoulder, immediately dropping his hand and large grin when the look on his face made it clear that he was opposed to his touch.  The white haired witcher’s face had an expression that could kill a man.

Jaskier strode confidently over to an empty table and bench set, then stepped onto said bench to lift himself onto the very top of the table’s surface.  An uncomfortable silence washed over the crowd of people, who were now all staring at him with wide eyes.

“He is a mad man.”  One patron said, brown ale dribbling down his chin without a care.

Jaskier pulled his precious lute out from the sturdy straps on his back and held it within both of his hands.  One deep breath later, he shut his eyes and began lightly strumming.  

🎶 When a humble bard

     Graced a ride along

     With Geralt of Rivia

     Along came this song

     From when the white wolf fought  🎶

“Hey!  I’ve heard this song somewhere else before!  On the other side of the continent!”  An older man, appearing to be in his forties claimed.  His long grey scraggly beard swayed as he spoke.

Jaskier pointed at the man, thinking he was a fan before continuing the song.

🎶  A silver-tounged devil

     His army of elves

     At his hooves did they revel  🎶

“Yeah!  That’s it!  That’s the line!!”  The unknown guest’s finger pointed at Jaskier’s face.

Jaskier’s eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to continue his song, slowly beginning to lose the words in his head due to the distracting man.

“I heard you singing that to my wife in OUR bedroom!!  Right before I came in to find her giggling and undressing you!!  It’s the same voice!  YOU SLEPT WITH MY WIFE, YOU SCOUNDREL!!”  

At this accusation, Jaskier’s strumming and singing came to a stop, his worried eyes shooting over to Geralt, who was still watching the entire thing from his barstool.  The man accusing him stood up and slowly started to walk over in Jaskier’s direction.  

“You’re pretty brave to show your face around here after that.  Or just stupid!”  He shouted, strings of spit flying through the air from his angry mouth.

“Look, look! I–I don’t know who your wife is!”  Jaskier tripped over his words, slowly backing off of the table and back onto the ground.  “I’m sure she’s a lovely lady, sir!  I would never!”

“No?  Curly brown hair, tanned skin, gargantuan–”  The man stopped himself, clearing his throat.  “Her name is Giona.”  

“Giona?  Giona!  Yes! The one with the feather wand.  God, that thing tickled. Yes, she uh–”  Jaskier cleared his throat.  “She is a lovely lady indeed.”

“Jaskier!  You idiot!”  Geralt yelled from his seated position.  

Without hesitation, the angered man swung a hefty fist at Jaskier, luckily being blocked by his raised forearm and elbow.  Although, the blow no doubt would leave a deep bruise on each arm.  As if he had a death wish, he dropped his arms to his side and tried to reason with the man once more, begging for mercy……and begging him to not touch his angelic face.  Unsurprisingly, his pleading did not work whatsoever; a second blow came his way, this time making contact with his nose, which was now spewing blood down his mouth and chin.  Deciding enough was enough, Geralt finally raised himself off of the stool and made his way over to the tussle.  This brief distraction gave the man time to hold his raised fist in place and glance over at the witcher.

“Is this good for nothing cow pie with you?  Because he’s about to be a dead man!”  The man shouted.  

“It isn’t how it sounds.”  Geralt claimed.

“What?”  The man and Jaskier asked simultaneously, looking at one another startled.

“You see….”  Geralt’s hands stretched out in front of him.  “As a young boy, he was kicked in the head by a horse and it severely affected his judgment.  To the point where he has almost no capability of knowing what’s right and what’s wrong.  I apologize for his actions but...your wife....”  Geralt inhaled deeply.  “Your wife must have felt sorry for the lad, performing an act of....charity.”

“Charity?!?  I’ll have you know, Geralt-”  Jaskier looked strongly offended, a crooked frown on his bloody face as he stared at the witcher.  Gonia’s husband turned his gaze back to him and Jaskier changed his entire demeanor in an instant, a smile on his face, his head nodding furiously.  “Yep, it’s true.  Never learned.  Can’t tell, um, sir.  Charity.  Must’ve been.  Very gratful for uh...Gonia....yes.”  Jaskier swallowed thickly.  

The man’s eyes darted between the two of them, unsure of what to think about the insane explanation.  “You know what?  Get the hell out of here.  Not worth my time.”  He spat at Jaskier’s mud covered boots and walked back to his table, head shaking side to side.

Geralt waited a moment to ensure that the man wasn’t going to change his mind and waltz back over to dish out another beating.  Once he was certain they were in the clear, he gave a rough smack to the back of Jaskier’s head.

“Agh!  What was that for?!?”  Jaskier yelled, holding the back of his throbbing skull.  

“For being a dipshit who can’t keep his dick in his pants for more than twenty four hours.  Everywhere we go a fight breaks out because you fucked someone’s wife, girlfriend, daughter, goat, whatever.”

“I can’t help it if all the ladies find me irresistible, Geralt.  And I would never fuck a goat!  Do you know how often they bathe?”

“That’s all that’s stopping you from indulging in a goat’s company?”  Geralt teased.

“You know what?  I’m not going to answer that.  I will not humor you.  I know you’re just trying to get a rise out of me.  I may be an idiot, but I’m not stupid!”

Geralt rolled his eyes and walked away from the snarky young man, heading down the nearby hallway that was filled with the remaining empty rooms, which he had been lucky enough to snag while Jaskier put on his failed performance.

“Where are you going?”  Jaskier called out.

“To my room for the night because being around you is exhausting.”

Jaskier scoffed.  “Well, I never, witcher!”  He grabbed his chest over his heart, acting as if he had never been more offended in his life.  “You know, you’re not so pleasant to be around either, Mr. Ray of sunshine and daisies.”

“Just shut up and go to your room.”  Geralt ordered.

“What are you, my mother?” 

“Thank the gods I have no relation to you.  I barely tolerate you, Jaskier.  Down the hall, to the left.”  Geralt disappeared into his room, slamming the door behind him.

“Hmph.  He’s just jealous that the ladies love me.”  With his nose held high and hands in his hips, he waltzed down the hall and entered his own room for the night, ready to wash his godforsaken boots.

It wasn’t often that Y/N and the group of witchers, who she lovingly referred to as ‘her boys’, got a little down time.  Because of this, sometimes they found themselves doing the most unusual, uncharacteristic activities when the opportunity presented itself.  Why not indulge in things other than monster slaying?  I mean, why shouldn’t a group of burley, manly, intimidating witchers be allowed to sit upon scattered tree stumps in the middle of a field of long grass and wildflowers while whittling miniature animals out of wood?

“How do you like my creation, darling?”  Y/N smiled widely, turning to her romantic companion, Lambert, who was sitting on a tree stump to her left.

“It’s….”  Lambert paused for a moment to glare at Eskel, sitting across from him, who was not so sneakily trying to hide a snicker.  “Esk, what do you think?”  

Eskel’s face straightened up immediately when he noticed Y/N staring at him intently, waiting for an answer.  

“Oh!  It’s, um, it’s a lovely looking…uh…”  Eskel’s eyes narrowed at the object  that vaguely resembled an animal in her outstretched hand.  “It’s a lovely looking goat, Y/N.”  A grin slowly appeared on his face as Lambert rolled his eyes.

“Thank you, Eskel!”  She said, her face gleamed with delight.

The three friends turned their attention to Geralt, who was seated quietly on the ground against the only tree left in the field.  His position was nearby, but far enough for the group to not hear what words he was mumbling to himself.  As if he felt the sets of eyes focused on him, he lifted his head from his carving-in-progress.  

“What?”  Geralt grunted.

“What in fresh hell is that, wolf?”  Lambert blurted, earning a smack to his shoulder from his love.  “What?!?”

“Oh, don’t look offended, Lamb, you were being rude!”  She scolded him.

“Yeah, Lamb.”  Eskel repeated, emphasizing the nickname she gave him.  

Y/N huffed and rolled her eyes, gently placing her finished wooden goat carving on the soft ground next to the stump she had been seated on.  Placing her small dagger along with it, she then stood up and began to walk slowly over to Geralt.

“So….”  She kneeled down in front of him.  “What is it that you’re making, Geralt?”  Her eyes narrowed, yet her smile never faltered.

“It’s….it’s supposed to be a donkey.”  Geralt’s eyes didn’t meet Y/N’s as he set his whittling knife back into his leather pouch.

Y/N’s eyes widened at the misshapen object in his hands.  It looked like it somehow had two heads, a rabbit’s tail, and seemed to be missing a leg.  

“HA!”  Lambert erupted with laughter.  “Are you serious?”  He stood up and walked over to join Y/N and his fellow witcher.  “Geralt, tell me, since when do donkeys have two heads and three legs?”

“Hm.”  Geralt grunted, tossing the donkey-like creature aside.  “Better than her deformed goat.”  He pointed at Lambert’s mate, unaffected by the frown on her face.  

“Geralt!”  She crossed her arms across her chest after she stood back up.  “You know what?  Yeah, Lamb, that looks nothing like a donkey.”  Y/N smirked.

Geralt furrowed his eyebrows and looked back and forth between her and Lambert, but said nothing.

“It kinda looks like roadkill.”  She continued.

“HA!  That’s my girl!”  Lambert’s arm found its place around her shoulder.

“It’s got a face only a mother could love.  Like it got pulled off a ship and mauled by an aeschna.”  Y/N giggled as she went on.  “Actually, is that a tail, or its intestines coming out of its ass?”

“She’s got a point, you know.  Should listen to the lady.  She knows her monster mauls…..and asses.”

“There is something deeply wrong with both of you.”  Eskel chimed in, not daring to move from his seat, still whittling away at a clump of wood.

“What can I say, Eskel, I prefer my women disturbed.”  Lambert smirked before placing a quick peck on Y/N’s lips.

“Yeah.”  She looked at Lambert dreamily, hugging into his waist.  “A match made in hell.”

The cottage you and Lambert shared was nothing to be impressed by.  It was small, creaky, leaky, and the wooden floors often came with a high risk of splinters.  On the days it rained, you spent most of your time finding spare buckets and other random containers to place underneath the spots in the roof that allowed rainfall to pass through freely.  

On the days it was sunny and breezy, you forgot everything that was really wrong with your home, enjoying the natural breeze squeezing through the cracks to cool off you and your three month old Irish wolfhound pup, who your beloved Lambert brought home after a particularly long hunt.  He claimed that the pup refused to leave his side after he found her owner dead, unlucky enough to have been killed by an Alghoul.  Even after he left the desecrated village, the small puppy continued to follow him.  Now, she was the innocent loving little creature who kept you company while Lambert was out on hunts.  She made you feel less alone and made it easier to cope with his absence.  

Today was a time where the thick droplets of rain were invading your home. Buckets you found inside of the horse barn behind your cottage littered the floors throughout the living room and kitchen.  Your puppy, Blair, investigated each and every bucket with her nose, nudging each one as she sniffed them. Her ears perked up from the sounds of the water splashing up from the filled pool of water and hitting the sides of the metallic containers.  You were worried about water damage and if your struggling home would hold up, and Blair was having the time of her life.  What a playful pup she was.

“Maybe when Lambchop returns home, he’ll see if he can fix some of these holes in the roof….whaddya think, girl?”  You spoke to Blair, bending over to lightly scratch the top of her head, smiling as she squeaked in delight.  Your hand proved to be more interesting than the bucket now.

As soon as you moved your hand away from petting her, she returned to sniffing the buckets, her curiosity once again taking over.  You stood up with a huff, looking around your home, truly taking in how subpar the interior was at the moment.  You swore if you took a wrong step, your foot would go straight through the beaten down and rotted floorboards.  With this somewhat heavy rain, you weren’t sure how much longer the roof was going to hold.  All you could do was think about how badly you wished for Lambert to come back soon.  The lack of his presence made you feel uneasy.

The rainy day came and went, the next few turning out to be just the same.  A seemingly never ending rain was now beginning to swiftly flood the path leading up to your shared cottage.  If the water rose any higher over the next couple of days, you and your helpless pup were going to be trapped.  

Lambert’s hunting expeditions were extremely unpredictable, so you were never quite sure when he would return home….or if he would return.  Still, you found yourself peeking out the half unhinged front door to the cottage twice every hour, hoping to see his chestnut colored horse, Seraphina, who he affectionately named due to her fiery personality.  To your dismay, each peek came with nothing but disappointment.  Only rising rain waters and strong gusts of wind threatened you from the unforgiving outdoors.  

The following night, you decided you were going to give your most desperate attempt at bringing Lambert home sooner.  You brought Blair into your bedroom and closed the door behind you, trying to keep her away from the flood waters that had inched their way inside of the cottage and leaked halfway out into your living room.  She whined in protest when you picked her up originally but quickly found comfort and peace curled up at the end of your bed.  Seeing this made you wish you could find the same amount of bliss without Lambert filling one side of the bed.  You didn’t know what else to do.  Tears threatened to spill out of your eyes as you knelt down onto the rough floor, leaning your elbows on the edge of the mattress.  You began to pray to the gods.  You prayed for his faster return, his safe return, and you prayed that the gods would listen in the first place.  When you were done, you still felt an uncomfortable emptiness.  He still was not home and rainwater still threatened the already questionable stability of your home.  How were you going to get yourself through this?

Morning came as slowly as it ever had, you spending most of the night lying awake and waiting for the water to inevitably reach your bedroom.  This time, however, as dawn appeared, rays of sunshine appeared with it.  The warmth of the light felt almost unfamiliar after days of cold and wet fear.  Using the light to your advantage, you glanced down to check the state of your bedroom floor. Sure enough, to your horror, the water beneath you was slowly lapping at the edge of your bed.  You awoke Blair from her unaware slumber, clutching her close to you.  Rather than the rain and flooding soaking her fur, your tears were doing the job just as well.  

You were out of hope.  Your will was slowly and painfully being drowned under the relentless and unforgiving waters.  The front of your cottage was surely lost, furniture and food with it.  There were no other horses residing in the barn, as you weren’t typically one for adventure and travel, contrasting the man you had fallen in love with.  Clothes that usually had their place in the homemade trunk in the corner of your bedroom were now floating on the surface of the murky cold waters mixing with the mud and grit on the ground.  You had nothing but Blair, and nowhere to go.  Nowhere to escape.

“Dove?!?”

You lifted your sunken head and wiped some of the tears staining your face. Were you hearing things?  Was that a voice, or the gods taunting you?

“Dove?!?  You in here?  Son of a bitch, you better be alive in here, woman!”  

No.  You knew that voice.  That voice was warmth.

“Lambert??”  You called out, your voice hoarse and trembling.  “Lambert, is that you?!?”

“Yes, it’s me!  What in the ever living fuck are you still doing here?”  Lambert’s voice was getting closer, the sounds of heavy sloshing water accompanying it.

“Where was I gonna go, Lamb, you’ve got Seraphina with you!  I can’t exactly ride Blair out into the woods!”  Blair started to lick your face as you spoke.

“Shit, shit, for FUCK’S SAKE!  I’m coming!”

You let out a sigh of relief.  Your rugged off roading husband was on his way to you and your sweet pup.

“Wait, are you trudging through the water and mud?”  

“Ah, not exactly, dove.  Think my trousers would be torn to shreds in this thick shit.”  Lambert answered, his voice sounding like he was merely inches away from the bedroom door.

Then you heard it.  A loud but quick neighing came from outside the door.  The gods certainly couldn’t be playing a joke on you now.

“Lamb….my love….did you bring your horse into the house?”

“Well, how else was I gonna carry you out of here?  I’m just thinkin’ smart!  Seraphina’s a lot taller than I am, Dove.”

You rolled your eyes at your self proclaimed genius of a husband, although still more than thankful that he was there to rescue you.  Just a moment later, your bedroom door slowly creaked open, resisting against the rising water.  

“Holy shit.”  Lambert cussed.

He eyed the water that was starting to rise above the edge of the mattress you were huddled on, thinly coating the bottom of Blair’s paws.  The hem of the silken nightgown on your figure was beginning to flow with the water.

“Alright, let’s go before you turn into a Drowner.  I’m not into that.”

“Lambert, you find humor in the weirdest things, you know.”

Lambert shrugged his shoulders and reached down to grab Blair as you held her up in the air, wanting to keep her safe before yourself.  After the pup was seated on his lap, he reached into a pouch on the side of Seraphina’s saddle and pulled out a leather strap with a buckle on it.  

“Hold still, ya little shit.”  Lambert scolded as he tried to prop up Blair against his chest.  As soon as she calmed down more and lessened her wiggling, he gently wrapped the strap around himself and the confused puppy, locking the buckle in place to create a secure holder for her.  “Arms up, Dove.”

You stood and balanced yourself using the posts to the headboard on the now soaked bed, reaching your arms out to meet Lambert’s.

“Jump!”  Lambert ordered.

You did as he said without question and jumped up, your landing being supported by his weight.  You didn’t quite make it to the top of Seraphina’s saddle, your feet submerging and dragging through the opaque water. 

“Son of a bitch!”  Lambert grunted as he caught your body, using his upper strength to lift you up the rest of the way.

 After you shifted yourself to properly sit on the horse, he directed her out of the bedroom, into the living room, and out of the cottage.  The water was so deep and caked in layers of mud that the sound of Seraphina’s hooves were seemingly mute. 

“Lamb….where are we gonna go?”

A heavy silence filled the air.

“The flood just took our home….we have nothing.”  You continued, your voice cracking.

“Not to be a sappy shit but, Dove, you’re my home.  Wherever we go, I’ll be home as long as I’ve got ya’.”

You leaned forward to rest your cheek on your husband’s back.  Just moments ago, you were fearing for your life and wondering if your grave was going to be the dark and cold depths of the floods, afraid that your precious pup was going to share the same fate.  Now, you were atop your love’s prized horse off to find another home, snuggled into his back, with Blair strapped in safely against his front like she were a human child.  You knew he loved that pup, and there was nothing he could say now to convince you otherwise.