Jaskier likes the rabbits.
Geralt wags his tail proudly at Jaskier's smile, and when Jaskier drops down and presses his forehead to Geralt's, he can't stop himself from licking Jaskier's cheek. The affectionate touch makes Geralt feel important. Like he's necessary.
"You're a very good boy," Jaskier murmurs, scratching behind Geralt's ears. Geralt's tail thumps into the snow and he wishes desperately that he could remember why Jaskier is so important to him. Other humans aren't like this – they're loud and frightening and shout cruel things. The bandage on Geralt's leg is testament to that. But Jaskier is soft and patient, and he smells like the forest after it's rained, and he feels like home.
"Good boy," Jaskier says again, stroking both sides of Geralt's face with his gloved hands, then pulling back and sitting on his heels. "Looks like it's time for breakfast," he adds, then stands up and drops his pack on the ground next to the rabbits.
Geralt watches with his head tipped to one side as Jaskier looks around the clearing, then moves a few feet away and starts to stomp in the snow. He looks ridiculous, and Geralt has no idea what he's doing. Maybe it's a game. Geralt tests the theory by bounding forward and barking, then starting to dig into the snow, kicking it out behind him until he's reached the dead grass underneath.
"You're being very helpful," Jaskier says, laughing as Geralt follows him and does it again, and again, until they've dug out a patch just big enough for Geralt to turn in circles and lie down in. "No, that's not for you, silly," Jaskier says, nudging Geralt out of the way. "We're going to cook breakfast."
A few minutes later, they're sitting next to a pile of wood, and Jaskier's striking something against a piece of rock. Geralt watches curiously, and when sparks from the rock catch and the wood starts to burn, he yelps in surprise. The sparks quickly turn to flames, lighting a deep panic in Geralt's chest. Fire is dangerous.
He quickly grabs the bottom of Jaskier's jacket between his teeth and tugs on it, growling at the flames through the fabric. When Jaskier looks at him quizzically, Geralt barks and headbutts his legs, backing up a few steps and then trying to grab Jaskier's jacket again.
"It's all right," Jaskier says gently, reaching out to stroke Geralt's forehead. "It's not going to hurt you. See?" He holds a hand near the flames and Geralt whines, but Jaskier appears unhurt. "It's just to cook the rabbits," Jaskier explains, gesturing to them. "I can't eat raw meat like you can. I mean I could, but it would taste horrible, and I'd honestly rather starve than deal with the blood." He shudders. "You're fine though," he reassures Geralt. "I promise."
The word 'promise' reassures some of Geralt's unease, and he approaches the fire warily. Jaskier says it's not dangerous, and Geralt trusts Jaskier. The scent is strong, and Geralt wrinkles his nose, then is caught off guard by a sneeze. He shakes his head, rubbing his face with his paw and giving Jaskier a plaintive look.
"You're fine," Jaskier says, making a reassuring sound and running his fingers through Geralt's fur. "See, it's nice and warm, too. Not all of us have big fur coats like you do."
Geralt relaxes, shuffling forward and resting his head on Jaskier's leg while he watches the meat cook. When it's done, Jaskier offers a piece of it to Geralt, who takes it carefully and then licks Jaskier's fingers clean.
They sit in silence for a bit while Jaskier eats, warm and content by the fire, and Geralt's nearly fallen asleep when he hears Jaskier say, "We need to give you a name."
The wolf, who is almost entirely in Jaskier's lap at this point, looks up and cocks his head to the side.
"Well," Jaskier says, "If you're going to stick around, and I sincerely hope you do because you're lovely company, I can't just keep calling you 'wolf.' It's tedious, and not particularly inventive." He studies the wolf for a moment. "Daisy," he suggests. "Or Magnolia, perhaps. Both lovely white flowers to match your gorgeous coat."
The wolf huffs unhappily and Jaskier laughs. "Fine, then, no flowers, although I'll have you know that being named after a flower isn't so bad. One of my nicknames is Dandelion, and it's a perfectly reasonable name." The wolf looks at him curiously and Jaskier sighs. "You're right, it's rather silly, isn't it? My sister used to call me that because—" Here he adopts a posh accent and uses the stick in his hand to dramatically punctuate his speech "—Julian, you are as stubborn and unyielding as those yellow weeds in the yard. Nobody plants them purposefully, but they appear everywhere, unwanted and intrusive."
The wolf whines, seemingly sympathizing with Jaskier's plight.
"Well, yes, she is a bit of a bitch," he concedes, picking out another piece of meat and handing it to the wolf, who takes it carefully and swallows it without chewing. "Most of my family are – it's why I haven't seen them in years. She wasn't wrong, though."
The wolf growls as if chastising him, and he laughs.
"It's fine, I'm used to it," he says, trying to keep the melancholy from seeping into his voice. "I tend to be… too much. Geralt told me that all the time. Probably should have listened to him, would have saved me quite a bit of heartbreak."
Jaskier sniffs, tipping his head back to the sky to keep the pooling tears from falling. Even after all this time, thinking about Geralt's words, the angry curl of his lip, the fury in his eyes… it's too much. There's a quiet whine and he looks down at the wolf who is resting his head in Jaskier's lap and looking up at him with sad eyes.
"It's all right," Jaskier says softly, scratching behind his ears. "I've got you, now, and we don't need to think about that arsehole, do we?" The wolf whines. "Well, he is, and if you'd met him, you'd see what I mean. A brave, frighteningly strong, unfairly attractive arsehole, but an arsehole nonetheless."
"Now," he continues before the wolf can argue with him, "Back to the subject of your name. I don't suppose you'd answer to… Biały?" Another unimpressed look. "How about Cloud, then?" This time the wolf growls half-heartedly. "White? Snowy? My goodness, you're remarkably captious. Reminds me of a certain someone."
The wolf woofs softly and Jaskier glowers at him. "You know exactly who I'm talking about," he grumbles, tearing another chunk off the meat and handing it to the wolf, who takes it eagerly. "Geralt of Rivia, the Wh—"
The wolf barks suddenly, standing up and wagging his tail. He looks very pleased with himself as he spins in several circles. When he sits back down in front of Jaskier, his tail pounds into the snow.
"Seriously?" Jaskier stares at him. "You want me to call you Geralt?"
The wolf barks again and Jaskier groans. "Oh, for Melitele's sake, please, pick literally any other name. I can think of more! I'm sure something will come to me eventually, just—"
A growl and gentle teeth on his sleeve interrupt his tirade and he sighs, looking down into wide, golden eyes. "Fine," he says, tugging his sleeve out of the wolf – Geralt's – grasp and glaring at him. "Fine! Since you're both stubborn, gorgeous, dangerous idiots with sharp teeth, I will call you Geralt the wolf. Maybe you'll be a better travelling companion than your human counterpart. At least you'll complain less. And probably smell better."
Wolf Geralt looks almost offended at this and Jaskier laughs, letting bittersweet memories dissolve as his fingers brush through soft, thick fur. Eventually he sighs and stands up, readying to put out the fire.
"Now, Geralt," Jaskier says once he's done, putting as much disdain into the name as he can, "I'm heading back to town to get my horse, and from there… who knows? My life isn't particularly exciting, but you're welcome to tag along if you're so inclined. It would be nice to have someone to sing to who won't tell me to shut up all the time."
Wolf Geralt barks happily, bumping Jaskier's hand and then bounding through the snow toward the road.
"Well then," Jaskier says, smiling as he shoulers his pack. "Off we go."