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I just read your kear morhen fic with jask and kitty aiden and wolfy witchers. And OMFG! I wish I could just give you a trillion likes and reach through the phone screen and give you a big hug!!!! It was amazing!!! But now, I'm wondering.. jask has seen it but how will ciri react??? I think she would totally join in. She's still at an impressionable age and could totally pick up a few behaviors... Or act like a lion cub.... and will try and sneak attack the others like a real lion cub does!

Sssshhh. We’re huntin’ bardses...

It was a beautiful, crisp day at Kaer Morhen. Jaskier sat on the railings of the main stairs leading up into the entrance hall and plucked aimlessly at the strings of his lute. Oh, how he missed the summer, but there was something truly majestic about the ancient, Aen Sidhe Keep framed in an endless blanket of white snow and coniferous trees. She was like an old, stately lady reclining in a throne of stone. Glorious. Hmm, throne, stone, snow… bow…

Little did Jaskier know; he was currently under extreme scrutiny. His very life hung in the balance.

“Keep low,” Aiden breathed. Only tiny slivers of luminescent green escaped the consuming black holes of his pupils. His hand rested in the middle of Ciri’s back, urging her lower to the floor. They were currently obscured by a stack of crates; Ciri would have to navigate uneven terrain to reach her target. But who better to give the Lion Cub of Cintra a pouncing lesson, than the King of the Pride, right? “You need to pay attention to the wind direction, the ambient noises, the—.”

“What’re you up to, losers?” Lambert stomped up behind them; Aiden immediately lunged to snag his wrist and drag him down to their level. The target looked up, glanced behind him, and then shrugged with a shallow frown. The wind did carry voices, after all.

“We’re hunting bards,” Aiden hissed, and Ciri grinned up at the both of them, her tongue sticking through the gaps in her teeth where a few had fallen out in the last few days. Not knocked out, you understand. Fallen. She was still but a cub, and she was growing in her Big Lioness teeth. “So shut your trap.”

“Oh, f—,” Lambert started, clamped his mouth shut, and then hunkered down with them. “Have you told her about the wind direction rule?”

“Yeah,” Aiden murmured. “Not as important though. Bards can’t smell for sh—sugar.”

“If this is training, then she needs to know the fu—fudgin’ wind direction rule,” Lambert grumbled.

“Oi, can we focus here?” Ciri cut in, and then flicked her head towards their chirping target. “I know the words ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ too, so cut that out.”

“Not from us though, right?” Aiden murmured, and Lambert smirked. “Okay,” Aiden looked back, his pupils blew big again and he shimmied his shoulders. “Move quickly, don’t lift your feet too far off the ground.”

“You need wide, sweeping steps,” Lambert cut in. “Keep your breathing slow. No panting.”

“Now, if we wait until he starts singing—,” Aiden held his breath.

Jaskier struck a chord, took a deep breath, and began his serenade. “To adore you is all my life, fair Ettariel, let me keep, then, the treaure of memories. And the magical flower; a pledge and sign of your love. Silvered by drops of dew as if by tears...”

“Go, now, go, go!” Aiden urged Ciri into action and she flew forward. Her speed, for such a young age, was impressive, and the soft leather of her boots made no sound as she covered the uneven flagstones of the courtyard with grace and poise. The bard didn’t stand a chance.

“Ack!” Jaskier cawed as he was taken out with a low shoulder tackle. “Your majesty, Ciri—by Melitele’s ti—ahh, bloody hell! What in—?” They fumbled around in the snow, Jaskier’s lute about a meter away, until Ciri was sitting on his chest in triumph. She looked across to her two uncles with a broad grin, and then looked thoroughly disgruntled when she saw them rolling around with laughter.

Jaskier tilted his head and glared at them. “I should’ve known this was you two, mark my words, you rapscallions. My revenge shall be swift and petty! Do you hear me? Swift. And petty.”

“Whatever, bard,” Aiden smirked, chest still wheezing and breathless. “Hey, Ciri. Fancy some tougher game? Heard Eskel’s weaving some baskets in one of the workrooms.”

“Eskel,” she left her prey in the snow and tapped her chin. “Yeah, go on then. Laters, Jaskier.”

With a broad grin, she trotted after Aiden. Jaskier stumbled to Lambert’s side, brushing off his doublet with quiet grumbles. “You need to watch that, you know, that young, they imitate everything. She could become a mirror image. Not so much the Lion Cub of Cintra as the Mangy Kitten of Novigrad.”

Lambert huffed. “If she becomes half the person Aiden is then she ain’t doing too badly,” he reached up and knocked Jaskier’s newly restored feathered cap from his head, and then departed towards the stables.

Hat retrieved from the snow for a second time in as many minutes, Jaskier watched after Lambert’s retreating back with a soft, knowing smirk.

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