"That was cruel, even for you."

Geralt looks back at Yennefer from where he's been gazing out over the edge of the mountain, trying to ignore the uncomfortable guilt that's been slowly settling into his stomach. She's standing behind him, arms crossed over her chest, giving him a look that would probably cause lesser men to shit themselves.

Luckily, Geralt has met things scarier than Yennefer. Not many things, he'll admit, but some.

He grunts in acknowledgement, then turns back to the view.

"Really? That's all you have to say for yourself?" Geralt's about to respond when Yennefer's hand connects with the back of his head. It doesn't hurt, but it certainly stings his pride. "Geralt of Rivia," Yennefer intones, rolling her eyes, "The White Wolf who needs nobody."

"I don't," Geralt grumbles, trying to ignore the way his heart cracks at the lie.

"That's shit and you know it." Yennefer sighs. She shoves him until they're facing each other. "This—" she gestures between them "—isn't real. But what you have with him is." Geralt frowns and she rolls her eyes. "Gods, you're an idiot."

"Yenn, you don't even like him."

"That's beside the point." She sighs. "He's an idiot, but he's good to you – and for you." Geralt goes to interrupt and she shakes her head. "Shut up. You've said enough already."

Geralt's not sure why he's standing here, letting Yennefer yell at him. Probably because she's right.

Yennefer looks him over, hands on her hips, and eventually appears to come to a decision.

"Fine," she says. "If you're so determined to be a lone wolf, then so be it."

She twitches her fingers and a spark of magic leaps from them to Geralt, tingling across his skin and smelling vaguely of peppermint. He wrinkles his nose, taking a step back but finding himself frozen to the spot.

He tries to ask Yennefer what exactly she thinks she's doing, but he suddenly can't speak – his mouth is too full. Of… teeth? When he reaches up to examine the sensation, he tumbles forward and lands on his face.

"There." Yennefer is suddenly much, much taller than Geralt, and he whines in confusion. The sound startles him – Geralt of Rivia does not whine. He opens his mouth to as her what the hell is going on, and nothing comes out but a growl.

A real growl, like a…

Geralt blinks, looking down at what are supposed to be his arms, but instead are two large, white paws pressed into the dirt. His nose itches and when he brings a hand – paw – up to scratch it, he's horrified to find a muzzle in its place.

Yennefer smirks at him. "Much better," she says, then bends down to pick up his sword and armor that are sitting next to him instead of strapped to his back. He growls at her and she rolls her eyes. "You deserve this," she says. "And you can have these back when you learn your lesson."

Then a portal swirls up around her, yanking her away in a wave of multicolored sparks, and Geralt is left sitting on his haunches, staring at the spot where she'd been.

Six months after Jaskier leaves Geralt on the mountain, he finds another white wolf.

It's the tail end of winter and the snow is just starting to thaw in this part of the mountains. Jaskier hasn't slept in a real bed in over a week, so when he comes across a group of highwaymen less than hour outside the next town, he's really not in the mood. All he wants is a bed and a bath, not a tedious fight.

"Just shoot it," one voice says. "The furrier'll buy its pelt for a handful of orens and we still get their coin. And take the girl, too."

Jaskier's mild irritation immediately shifts into rage that simmers in his chest. There's three men at the top of the hill – one holding a crossbow and two with swords out. Jaskier sighs, looping Buttercup's reins over a tree branch and drawing both his daggers.

"One bolt ain't gonna take that thing down," the man with crossbow insists. He takes a step backward, nearly tripping over a rock. "Ain't worth it."

"Bloody cad," one of the other bandits growls, grabbing the crossbow and leveling it at something beyond the crest of the hill. Jaskier moves silently along the treeline, keeping his eyes on the three men, and when he finally sees what they're looking at, his eyes widen.

It's a wolf. Jaskier's never seen one this big – it stands just taller than Jaskier's hip, and each of its claws are likely as long as Jaskier's hand. There's a young couple standing behind it, trembling in terror and clutching at each other. The arm of the woman's dress is torn and stained with blood, and a shoddily crafted sword lies on the ground, just out of reach of them. The wolf is pacing in front of them, muzzle blood-stained and teeth bared in a snarl.

"What're you waiting for?" one of the bandits growls, shoving the man with the crossbow. Before Jaskier can do anything, the bolt looses, flying through the air and embedding itself in the wolf's front leg. The wolf yelps, stumbling back but holding its ground.

As the man moves to reload the crossbow, one of Jaskier's daggers sails through the air and embeds itself in the soft spot between his neck and shoulder. As he sinks to the ground, blood bubbling from his throat, the other two raise their weapons and look around in panic. It's too late, though. Jaskier's already between them, yanking the sword from one of them and sliding it neatly into his stomach before kicking him back down the hill.

He turns, braced for a fight, but the wolf leaps forward, pinning the last bandit to the ground and snarling in his face before ripping out his throat.

"Well," Jaskier says as the wolf shakes the man a few times before dropping his corpse and stepping back. "I had that, y'know."

The wolf stares at him, and Jaskier realizes belatedly that instead of chastising the wolf, he should probably be backing away. Instead of attacking, though, it stares at him, head tipped curiously to the side.

Jaskier frowns. There's something comforting about its presence, which is ridiculous because it could kill him before he could blink. His brain doesn't have the decency to be afraid, though, and he nearly reaches out to pet the damned thing before it turns around and limps off into the forest.

A familiar sensation twists through Jaskier, thrumming low in his chest. He's about to try to untangle it when the woman touches his arm.

"You saved us," she breathes. He drags his eyes away from the rustling bushes and up to her face, and a small part of his mind registers that at one time, he would already be trying to get into her skirts. Now, though, the idea of being with anyone that isn't Ger—

He shakes his head.

"Are you hurt?" The man has approached now, looking somewhere been grateful and embarrassed. Jaskier pulls himself out of the spiral of bitterness he's veering toward and gives the man a cheerful smile.

"Not at all," he insists, leaning down and yanking his other dagger from the bandit's neck. He makes a face at the blood, wiping it on his pants and tucking it back into the sheath. "Are either of you harmed?"

"Not badly," the woman says, gesturing to where her arm is now wrapped with torn cloth. "They wanted our coin, and..." She swallows heavily. "And me... but then that wolf came charging out of the forest and protected us."

"Never seen anything like it," the man adds. "Hope it's all right." Then he turns to Jaskier and gestures back to the town. "Can we buy you dinner, stranger? We'd be happy to pay for a night at the inn as thanks – we owe you our lives."

Jaskier sighs, looking down the road and thinking longingly of a soft bed and a hot bath. But then he turns back to the trail of blood leading into the woods and groans.

"While normally I would absolutely take you up on that generous offer," he says, "I have some unfinished business to attend to."

"If you're certain," the man says, and Jaskier can tell he's eager to get away from the blood and bodies. "We'll leave a debenture at the inn if you'd like, so you can claim it when you make it to town."

"Lovely," Jaskier says, tipping his head at them. "I do have one favor to ask. Would you be so kind as to take my horse with you? I can pay for stabling."

"Nonsense," the woman says as Jaskier retrieves Buttercup and leads her up the hill, handing off her reins and patting her nose. "We'll pay for it. It's the least we can do."

"Be good," Jaskier murmurs to Buttercup. "I'll come for you."

As soon as the couple are down the hill, Jaskier sighs, turning toward the trail of blood and resignedly following it into the forest.