Thread by @LMsDread

It takes him closer to two decades to return even if he swore he wouldn't come back. The horse plods slowly along the road, the dirt muffling the sound of its shoes. Only the jingling of the harness and gear rises above the song of the cicadas in the dead summer air.

The trail takes him through the fields of wheat just about losing their greyish-green tint to dirty yellow of fresh straw. Clusters of red and blue in the grain provide welcome relief from the monotony, as do small birds on a hunt, flitting in and out of the wheat.

For the whole day Gabriel barely passes or sees anyone, people probably busy with the festivities preceding the hard work of the harvest, not that he is bothered by it. Far from it, he's rather comfortable with drawing no attention even if the region is favorable to his kin.

The voice calling him comes from behind and Gabriel looks over his shoulder to a man awkwardly chasing him, a big pack on his back and a walking stick in hand. He turns the horse around, waiting for him to catch up.
"Master witcher," the man stops to regain his breath.

"A noonwraith?" The fact the general populace is less likely to call him a mutant or devilspawn doesn't mean anyone's going to stop him for a chat. The season's right for the wraiths too.
"No, no, not a thing like that, doesn't keep around, master witcher."

The man has a skin like leather weathered by sun, grey peeking from under his cap, wrinkles around his mouth and eyes.
"Have you come for you pay, master witcher?"
Ah. He hadn't really intended to check back on that, mostly forgot about it. Gabriel shakes his head.

Nothing about it stirs his interest.
"No. Keep it."
The man nods, as if thinking something over, humming to himself.
"Then come with me, master witcher, spend the night, and the feast. Tomorrow's my youngest hair-cutting, and Mikheil's farewells, the boy's leaving the homestead."

"Your oldest?" Gabriel asks on a whim.
"No, no, the third oldest, the boy got into his head he's better off finding his luck on the road. Well-spoken too, didn't get that from me and my girl," the man explains with enthusiasm. "Family's farm's not for him."

"That's how kids are. He will come around."
"No, no, master witcher, there's no talking him out of anything, always does what he wants. Me and Lila, we thought of giving him to the druids. Some choice words he had, and the druids, they just said no, but Mikheil's got talent."

The man - Wernund, as Gabriel’s memory suddenly reminds him after almost eighteen years, curious what little tidbits emerge when not expected - continues on about his family, and, whether wanting or not, he learns ins and outs of the familial life on the farm.

Stranger still, Wernund keeps to the horse's side, and Gabriel feels no need to hurry the mount out of its complacent tempo.
"...I know the naming is mine but Lila chose the name for Nielub, it's a good name, strong name. Woj. That boy will fight a bear barehanded if allowed."

"And the woods, how are they?"
The treeline, closer and definite, sways on the afternoon wind, greener than Gabriel recalls it to have been when he paid it a visit with Jack.
"Never better. I don't know what you did in there, master witcher, but a month, and it was like before."

"Only returned what had been taken from it. Gabriel," he adds. "It's my given name."
With a glance, he observes the plethora of mixed emotions on Wernund's face, waits for the offer of the stay to be rescinded, but to his surprise the man again nods to himself.

"So it would be you, master witcher. Must've had your reasons."
"Gabriel."
"Would be improper, master witcher." Gabriel chuckles at his headstrong resolution and the refusal to feel fright at being in the presence of the one hailed the Reaper. "And there, there is my home."

Wernund points at the buildings at the edge of the forest, almost directly on the no-one's land between the trees looming over the road and the swaying wheat. The farmyard, as a whole, is too big and ample for him to travel on foot - a house, a shed, and a stable, all separate.

With the diminishing distance the activity in front of the house becomes obvious: two women sitting on the wooden bench - both plucking chickens, some down floating freely - one man chopping the wood, and a boy running with a stick with several colorful ribbons tied to it.

As they get closer, one of the women notices them - quickly says something - the rest of the way they pass under the scrutiny, and the boy, must be Nielub, running towards his father, the ribbons fluttering behind him.
The boy is blond, as is the man leaning now on the axe.

The women, on the other hand, both have rich brown hair, though the older one is visibly greying in front and on her temples - where her locks are woven around polished copper rings glinting in the sun.
Gabriel reins in the horse and dismounts while the boy asks after the gifts.

"Lila!" Wernund sends the boy back to play, placating him with a wooden sword from his backpack propped against the wall. "Lila, we have a guest."
"I noticed," she huffs, returning to her work after giving her husband a lingering look. "Mojmira. Bring the pitcher."

Being observed - regarded with suspicion - never something he grew accustomed to even if it'd always been present in the background of his life, but now back of Gabriel's neck prickles with the question unasked and the weight of her eyes on him.
"I have no intention of taking..."

"Not important," Lila cuts him off, fingers deftly tearing out the feathers, her head tilted to the side hawkishly. "You must be the witcher, the one who rescued idiot husband of mine, I've seen you in my ken."
Ah, one of those. Gabriel nods, smiling with the corner of his lips.

"You have my thanks, for everything. There's place for you, and the horse, in the stable, clean, and tomorrow, the feast. You'll be staying."
Mojmira comes back from the house with a clay jug held in one hand, and a wooden cup she hands him, dark eyes flicking to his face.

"I see," Gabriel chuckles, raising the cup to his lips - the smell and the taste slightly sour, water with vinegar. "A counteroffer."
"Maybe." Lila throws feathers to the ground. "Fate allows for bargains, but it won't be scorned, not even by the likes of you, witcher."

He glances to Wernund standing several feet away, talking with his oldest, Adan, as he came to know on the way.
"Is your daughter the same?"
Mojmira, sitting again by the side of her mother, and back at work, giggles.
"All women in my line have their gifts."

"And your husband said you're not well-spoken."
"My husband, as much as I love him, is many things, but he had not been born and raised here. He doesn't need to know."
"I see. I'll be going to the forest but I commit myself to be back for the night."

"Fine by me," Lila nods and Gabriel leaves the cup on the bench. "And if you find Mikheil hunting rabbits there, send him home."
"You let your son..."
"You should know, witcher, better than anyone, that if the forest wants to give, it does, and if it doesn't want to, it doesn't."

"It also has a way of punishing those that take what they shouldn't," his tone is sharper than he intends it to, and Gabriel sighs, closing his eyes for a moment.
"That is why we never take what is not offered. If the rabbit springs from under your feet, is it not a gift?"

Gabriel prefers not to answer her knowing smile, instead he turns and leaves the horse grazing in the yard. With a heavy heart, he crosses the road and walks into the forest's shade, feeling her gaze on his back.
The woods are nothing like he remembers them, lush and green.

Neither a desolate and twisted place overgrown with thorns and full of bones, nor a dark nightmare of a child full of monsters. There is life in the trees, birds and insects singing. He spots a fox deeper in - it idly considers him before turning and disappearing in the bushes.

Gabriel lets himself wander, a ghost of a smile on his lips, and fingers brushing against the spot under which the flower rests.
Maybe he should have visited years earlier, but it had never felt like a thing to do, the current situation more of an accident than anything else.

It's the smell of fresh blood that pulls him out of his thoughts, and he approaches carefully the small clearing. Two rabbits being bled hang by their hind legs from a low branch, next to them several fish with twine threaded under their gills, a bow and a quiver on the ground.

A young man, judging by the posture, sits on the grass with his back to him, occupied with something in his lap. Blond, like the other sons of Wernund.
"Mikheil?"
"You're the worst at collecting your pay, you know?" The boy, springing to his feet, chuckles, and turns.

"I was about to go look for you myself."
Gabriel freezes, faced with the impossibility of the image before him, his eyes drifting to the weasel swinging freely from the hands holding it.
"You hate..."
"Oh, yeah, I still do, I guess," Jack mutters,"but this is Lord Murders-A-Lot."

Younger, with places still left to fill out, awkward posture - the legs and arms a bit too long and bony, bits of baby fat waiting to disappear, hair not short enough, dissonances like a vision superimposed on something real.
"...and he murders a lot," slips from Gabriel's lips.

"Mostly chicks. I'm trying to wane him off murder," Jack moves his hands - the weasel appears to be content with being swung around, "and teach him to go after the eggs, but it's not working out. At least, the eggs don't scream at him they're being murdered, like the chicks do."

Gabriel takes a tentative step forward as Jack continues to speak.
"Voles, too. I've even seen him take down a rabbit once, he's an exceptional murder ribbon."
"I miss you," words barely a whisper.
"Well, you certainly didn't hurry then," Jack scoffs, before his eyes widen a bit.

He crosses the distance between them - Gabriel cannot shift his gaze away from the weasel for some reason - and stops in front of him. "You're still thinking I'm not here."
"No, you're here, just..." A memory, an apparition, a vision? Not real, not physical, because Jack is dead.

"I sure hope I'm not whatever it is you're imagining me to be, Rhenaweddin."
Jack moves, quick, his lips warm and chapped at the edges, with an elusive taste of something sweet and green between them. Gabriel grabs onto his arms to keep him in place before he slips away, again.

"I'm really counting on that last growth spurt. Standing on my toes to kiss you, cub, it's going to get old fast."
"That's," Gabriel laughs, almost silent, contained - maybe the emotion has a hysterical flavor to it, "that's what you're worried about?"

"Small things to worry about are good things. Now," Jack puts Lord Murders-A-Lot on his shoulder and the weasel with no delay flattens itself around his neck, "what has my mother managed to rope you into?"
"A bargain. I might have traded..."
"Then you weren't listening, cub."

"Told to send you home." The tightness in his throat is making it hard for him to speak.
"Sneaky woman," Jack clicks his tongue with appreciation, stretching his neck out for a quick peck. "Well, best not to keep her waiting too long, then, she can be really bitchy at times."

Gabriel watches him turn, gather the bow and the quiver, pick the rabbits and the fish from the branch, as if it's the most common - the most reasonable - thing to do. His medallion remains motionless, the thought of having missed its movement earlier in the day troubles him.

"Are you coming, little cub?" Jack laughs, passing him, the weasel still on its perch, its eyes closed and nose twitching. "It feels somewhat strange calling you that when I'm shorter than you."
At that age, yes, Jack hadn't been the tallest, rapidly gaining height only later.

They both did, but it took more time for Jack to grow into his body - his agility strangely mismatched with his disproportionate limbs and bony hips. All paired up with a little cheeky grin like the one he wears now when he looks over his shoulder at Gabriel.
"I'm coming."

Rabbits and fish. Out hunting when they should be training, returning to the keep with the spoils they had not roasted already over the fire hidden in the cove, stomachs full, ready for the reprimand coming from Reinhardt.
It's a memory playing out again in front of Gabriel.

He should, probably, thank the forest for that glimpse, or hate it, deeply, for forcing him to remember and dwell on happier times, uncomplicated, when the only worry had been doing something stupid - which they both were good at, exceptionally so - and suffering the consequences

Broken bones would mend, and scrapes and cuts, sometimes burns and bites, they would heal.
Jack, leading the way, moves with the same kind of disjointed grace he had observed so many times then. Maybe, it is a chance to say proper goodbyes, and to put the ghosts to rest.

"Wait," Gabriel calls after him as Jack is about to cross the invisible boundary of the forest and walk onto the road - the homestead and the fields visible in glimpses between the trees - and the moment has to end.
"You really won't like mother when she's angry."

And just like that, he steps outside the woods, leaving Gabriel with his hand outstretched behind.
He waits for Jack to vanish, for the illusion to fall away from the boy - yet nothing happens, it's still the same painfully familiar silhouette cut against the darkening sky.

The fact he doesn't remember there being any houses this close to the forest does not assuage his uneasiness. Respect it, trust it, revere it, but do not come too close if not needed.
The medallion lies dormant. Gabriel draws in a deep breath and follows Jack - not Jack.

The table is set - bread, butter, and white cheese, a pitcher in the centre, probably more water - lit by two torches on poles sticking out of the ground.
Lila combs her fingers through Jack's hair but her eyes are on Gabriel.
"Rabbits and fish, as promised."

"Go inside and welcome your father, he's back from the town."
"Yes, mother."
Jack leaves the catch hanging on the hook by the door and disappears inside the house. Lila waits before speaking again.
"Did you find what you were looking for, witcher?"
"No." Gabriel holds her gaze.

"More's the pity, then," she points to the table with her palm upturned. "You still have the night, and tomorrow. Let's eat, now."
Gabriel seats himself on the bench, the swords he puts on his right - ready to be drawn at moment's notice. The message is clear.

Lila raises her chin taking her place on the other side of the table, hand reaching for the cloth covering the jug, and, one by one, the other inhabitants join them as she pours the water into the cups.
"Two?" Adan nudges Jack with his elbow.
"We have guests tomorrow."

"I see one, not counting the Lord. Are you inviting some of your forest friends?"
"You'll have to wait and see for yourself," Jack tears off a handful of bread for himself.
"Any friend on your mind?" Mojmira smiles at Adan who now looks at his hands placed awkwardly on the table.

"I would ne..."
"Children," Lila speaks over them, placing a piece of bread in front of Gabriel, the next one she gives to Wernund. "Behave."
"If he's thinking about ploughing the nymphs..." Jack winces after a scuffle under the table. "Yes, mother, no talk of ploughing."

"Not like they'd be unwilling," he adds under his breath, visibly moving his legs out of the way. "Better than bruxa for tylwyth wife."
"I didn't know she was one!" Adan looks to Lila for help, receiving only a pointed look in return.
"Boys shouldn't wander past the sundown."

The discussion continues with the occasional 'yes, mother' thrown in, the banter not unlike any other heard during a meal shared by a family - if not for the subjects implied that somehow, miraculously, fly over Wernund's head as he partakes in the conversation himself.

Gabriel observes, the dissonance jarring in its unremarkable presentation. He barely touches the food and the drink, and excuses himself with the need to wake in the morning.
The stable is clean, his horse taken care of, and on fresh dried grass a couple of blankets are spread.

As a precaution, he spills silver dust across the threshold and the small windowsill before he lies down on the blankets in his armor with the hilt of his unsheathed sword under his palm, ready to spend the night in vigil, waiting for the veneers of the illusion to come apart.

It's at night, under the full moon, that the creatures of the ilk that could set a trap so sweetly painful it cannot be evaded are at the height of their power, shamelessly bold and unafraid, and whatever comes - if it does - Gabriel will face it head on.

Time passes and the voices coming from the outside fade. Someone - something - crosses the line of poured silver, the silhouette distinct and familiar.
"Mother does not approve of you," Jack laughs, stripping his shirt off, letting it fall to the ground before he strides closer.

The blankets dip under his weight, the imaginary heat radiating off him felt through fabric and hardened leather in anticipation even before he slots his frame to Gabriel's and drapes over him with the nose buried in his neck.
"Or, rather, she disapproves of your manner."

His fingers curl around the hilt of the sword as Jack's find the spot on his chest where under the armor the small pouch tied securely lies hidden from the sight.
"You still wear it." The tone is changed and Gabriel knows that that the next words will command him to tear it off.

But Jack laughs instead, whimsical and rolling sound vibrating in his chest.
"Oh, little cub, if I were what you're thinking me to be, would I simply not ask for this gift of mine to be returned rightfully? Or maybe I'd just tell you it is all but ground to dust, powerless now?"

Gabriel slowly lifts the blade, just so the creature cannot see it. Above him, Jack shifts.
"Or assure you that if anything has ever protected you from harm, it had been me, not the flower you carry."
His palm covers Gabriel's hand and guides the sword between them.

The angled blade turns and Jack puts his neck to the edge. The reflected moonlight illuminates the blemish running across his throat, a long line of paler flesh no wider than the nail on a little finger.
"Maybe even take it by force since you let me this close, witcher."

The skin parts open on the starmetal steel with each breath Jack takes. Droplets of blood trickle along the length of the blade - and down the line of his neck, to pool in the dip between the collarbones. Gabriel's breath dies in his chest, the sound of his heart deafening.

"Never tell anyone. Never take it off, not even if it is me asking, en'ca minne aep Hen Ichaer," the melancholy smile has his grip faltering under Jack's fingers. "There are those who would kill for it, and there are those who would use you, if not for it, a lesson hard-learned."

He has to blink the tears away, the sword lying forgotten in the straw, trembling hands cupping Jack's face.
"You are real."
The words are like a first breath of air taken in years.
"You gave me gifts I can never repay you for. You gifted me death, and you offered me life."

"You are my home, for a part of me is a part of you, and a part of you is a part of me," Jack continues, leaning over Gabriel, fingers tracing his cheekbones. "The songs of your mother and the stories of your father, I keep them for you, and I'll continue to do so, forevermore."

"Once, you had asked me to come with you, and I had accepted then, and so, I would accept it now, again. Eich'en a'bleth essea, Rhenaweddin."
To believe is the hardest thing, but with Jack gently brushing away his tears, Gabriel finds the strength to do just that.

With his head cradled to Jack's breast, and the quiet voice singing songs he knows but does not remember, he finally sleeps peacefully in forever stretching like a dark mourning shroud over the years - until a cockcrow announces the new morn and fingers combing his hair stop.

"You grew it out long."
A new day, finally, with the sun climbing over the horizon, the spot of light crawling down the wall, and a rooster that could use some shutting up.
"It can be cut now."
"It fits you, cub, you have the face for it. I looked like a haystack."

The emptiness floats inside him, the indescribable void bereft of any emotion Gabriel has a name for, refreshing and aching - he lets himself be carried on its calm surface.
"Did you have the whole deal? The hair-cutting?"
"It was awkward. I went from Strach to Mikheil."

"Strach?"
"Tearth."
"She didn't have high hopes for you, then," Gabriel chuckles as the rooster goes for umpteenth repetition, suddenly interrupted by wild squawking and the sound of wings beating frantically.
"What?" Jack feigns innocence for a moment before laughing.

"Lord Murders-A-Lot happens to be useful. Not very often, but it happens."
"You sent a weasel after a cock."
"Truth be told, Reginald isn't a very brave cock. The hens are fearless, though, and they do like to cuddle, did you know?"
"No," Gabriel sighs, closing his eyes again.

Nothing changes yet everything does, and he's simply tired - so tired - the exhaustion of the sort that seeps inside and settles heavy and sluggish at the very core of one's being for so long it remains unnoticeable.
"You should sleep more and I need to help with preparations."

His arms tighten around Jack's waist upon hearing the words, loathe as he is to let go of him even for a second, and Jack curls around him, to place a kiss on his forehead.
"I'll be back with you soon, little cub. There are things to be done for the feast. So, sleep and dream."

Gabriel wakes up alone and with the tingling of the chaos on his tongue. From the outside, a melody plucked on lute's strings floats.
Absentmindedly, he picks straw from his hair, rebinds it in a low-hanging ponytail. Custom calls for it to be shorn with the mourning ended.

He is hesitant, not willing to make his mind up yet - what is the point of keeping the customs he does not know the true weight of?
He loosens the buckles and clasps of the armor, the particular feeling of having slept in it fading, and drops of dried blood on it reassuring.

Soon, the brassards join the chest piece on the blankets, and Gabriel turns his attention to the bags that show obvious signs of having been tampered with, quite obviously so. A fresh shirt, although wrinkled, hangs above them - thrown haphazardly over the wooden wall of the box.

He slides his fingers over the dyed cloth, the weave tight and simple, the stitching reinforced with cured leather.

Outside, a distinct voice meandering between harmony and dissonance carries a maudlin melody.

"Hear, o gods, my desperate plea, to see my love beside me."

He changes, listening to the song and wondering over its rhyme - or maybe he's trying to look too deep into it, and the words warning of mistaking the stars for their reflection on the surface of the water come to mind.

"Sunk below the mortal sea her anchor weighs upon me."

Still, it's one of those songs performed when drunks either slept under the table or turned contemplative, and when brawls and boasts transformed into philosophies discussed over the cups of mead and dirty tables.

"Fasten her tether unto me that she may rise to sail free."

Gabriel steps out into the open. The sun pleasantly warms his skin, the smell of meat roasted with juniper and rowanberry wine wafts on the air.

"Don't look back," Sombra holds the melody on her tongue, the words mingling fluidly together into one flowing utterance.

She puts her palm across the strings of the lute held in her lap, a fleeting smile on her lips. By her side, with his legs crossed, sits Jack, looking up with an expression equal parts fond, apologetic, and the kind a mischievous kid caught red-handed stealing apples might wear.

"I was looking for clean clothes for you, and you had her crystal at the bottom of one bag, so I thought..."
"...you'd call me in the middle of the night?" Sombra snorts.
"It was an hour before the noon, witch."
"The middle of the night, as I said, you incorrigible forest pest."

"Oh, excuse me, your witchness, I forgot about your permanent moral hangover."
"Rich, coming from an ungulate," Sombra tries to sound offended but her face betrays her with how red-rimmed her eyelids still are, and her hair curl around her cheek naturally, with coiffure forgone.

The same with her garments, the frilly shirt with several laces undone and breeches more akin to something gathered at a moment's notice in a frantic hurry. Gabriel smiles coming closer beckoned with Jack's outstretched hand.
"It's not me with a weasel betwixt my tits."

"He likes it there because there is something he can lie betwixt, warm and soft, and voluminous."
"I'm still growing so that's uncalled for," Jack gives her a look full of genuine hurt as he pulls Gabriel down to the ground to rest between his now uncrossed legs.

He lets himself be guided and falls with his back against Jack's chest, different yet so familiar - arms circling his waist and a chin wedged over his shoulder as Jack laughs with a huff. "Oof, you're heavy now, cub."
"At least, we're past the puberty," Sombra smiles indulgently.

"Don't get me started, witch, the pimples were the least of my worries, the wenches are like bloodhounds after a wounded stag," Jack jests with a note of challenge in his tone. Sombra brushes her fingers against the strings, wresting a whimsical accord out of the lute.

"Forgive me for having no sympathy, ungulate. Now," she cocks her head, mischief in her gaze, "what are your plans?"
"I was thinking, I've never been to Skellige, little cub."
"Skellige?" Gabriel questions, shifting somewhat. "Why Skellige?"

"Oh," Jack moves one hand to his hair and picks at stray blade of straw Gabriel must have missed earlier, "lots of druids to piss off, and we might still manage to get there for the siren nesting period, I hear they're testy and irritable more than usual then."

"I'll give you two months, and meet you at Bremervoord. I'm booking the passage because I absolutely do not trust you both not to choose a hole-ridden tub that will sink if the wave rides higher than a priestess's skirt's hem." Sombra clicks her tongue at the end of the sentence.

"Three months."
Sombra stares at Gabriel at first incredulously, then her expression morphs into a sly look unbefitting her lousy appearance.
"Yes, yes, a vast quantity of time to make up for, indeed, I do feel a ballad calling to me."
"No," Gabriel sighs, closing his eyes.

"No ballads..."
"Yes, absolutely no ballads, I am still very much traumatized by your appalling rhymester vagaries," Jack pitches in his two crowns and Sombra is opening her mouth to object already.
"We have to drop by the stronghold to pick up something."

"We do?" Jack sounds surprised and Gabriel feels his chin shifting on his shoulder - imagining the inquisitive tilt of the head he doesn't see but knows so very well.
"You swords."
"You kept them."
"Of course I did. They were-are good swords," he catches himself too late.

Only now Gabriel notices how profound the shift from 'was' to 'is' is - it's one thing to believe this reality, and another to accommodate it and let it redefine the pain and the loneliness, and finally the acceptance, in the years before - and some surprise resentment lingers.

He's reminded of how everything - and nothing at all - had changed after he had acquiesced to Jack's attentions.
"I need a leak." Sombra pulls herself up, leaving the lute on the ground. "Don't wait for me," she adds before briskly moving to the fence and vaulting over it.

Strangely, no retort is coming from Jack, and Gabriel notices the tears when a brush of the lips on his cheek smears the moisture - how kind of her to leave.
"I'm sorry, cub. I am," Jack whispers, "truly, terribly, horribly sorry, for all. For everything."

"I could feel you, know that you are out there, but the knowledge of seeing you was beyond my grasp," he muses, his palm rising to Gabriel's other cheek. "The flower weaves its protections, even from me, so I could only wait for you to come to me until I could go to you myself."

"Your farewells."
"Today, the same as Nielub's hair-cutting, but it doesn't mean I have to leave in the evening," Jack sighs, fingers playing with Gabriel's hair again, twirling the loose strands with a doting tempo. "Tomorrow's not too late, and neither too early."

It strikes him, that maybe Jack does not want to leave having known family life now, something he would have not experienced before - and something of that thought must reflect in him because Jack chuckles and nuzzles his cheek with his nose before speaking again.

"It's my time to leave, with you, cub. You're all I need, and want," he sighs. "It won't be the easiest, I did get used to this kind of existence, but... I didn't know better, it was wrong of me to take them from you."
"You're keeping them safe for me."
"Always will."

The irony of 'I didn't know better' does not elude Gabriel; having his own words turned against him in a strange twist brings comfort rather than uneasiness - two admissions of guilt neither of them faults the other for.
"It's enough, knowing they are with you."

He wants to add his own apology but the unexpected screech has him looking at the source: Sombra frantically trying to wriggle her hand into her shirt from the top.
"Watch the claws, you furry Nilfgaardian bastard! Out! Out!"
"I think that's our cue, hm, cub?"

"Did you...?"
"I'd never. He just got bored," Jack chuckles as Sombra turns twice on the spot unsuccessfully attempting to halt with her hands the bump moving under the cloth - the weasel each time squeezing under or between her palms.
"Your whore mother of..."

"Murder mother!" Jack quips, slipping away from behind Gabriel and then offering him a hand. "Just stand still."
"The demon has the claws in my belly," Sombra hisses, arms outstretched and held away from her sides. "Get it out. Now. Or there will be a fried weasel appetizer."

"You wouldn't," Jack puts a palm against his chest with a horrified gasp, stopping just before her and leaning down. "Lord Murders-A-Lot does not deserve such a barbaric end!"
"Or a ballad."
"Now, this is a fate worse than death."

He grabs Sombra's shirt and pulls the bottom out of her britches, catching the falling weasel with his other hand - Lord Murders-A-Lot scurries up his arm with a chirp and briefly nibbles on his ear.
"I'm scratched all over. Devil, not a weasel."
"All weasels are devils."

As Jack pets the Lord, Gabriel feels himself slipping and falling back into the rhythm of it, the equilibrium snapping into place like the last piece of an astrolabe tracking the movement of the spheres.
"Just don't get him started."
"You're just jealous of my wee murder ribbon."

"I don't get his obsession with weasels," Sombra mutters, stuffing her shirt back where it belongs before she leans down for her lute.
"Neither do I?" Gabriel chuckles looking to Jack who smiles softly - his gaze warm and content, and something more elusive swirling behind it.

"C'mon," he beckons with his head, offering his hand to Gabriel, "it's about to start, would be rude to keep everyone waiting, wouldn't it?"
"It would." Gabriel accepts and grips his palm, pulling himself up, stumbling Jack for a moment.

*
The table is set, the white cloth covering it embroidered with shapes of flowers and animals stitched in vibrant colors, each corner adorned by a form of a stag raising on its hind legs with its head bowed, ready to fall with the full weight of its body on a contender.

Rabbits and foxes - not one alike any other found on the fabric - peek from behind the green grasses and the bushes full of red and black berries.

The smell of burning fat and caramelized sugar grows stronger as Mojmira pours another cup of rowanberry wine on the roast.

Jack tries to slink by Lila unnoticed but she still catches him by his ear as he passes, the disapproving twist of her lips never budging from its place.

"It is your brother's hair-cutting, and you're evading your responsibilities. Help your sister."

"Yes, mother."

Jack answers. He reflexively massages his ear for a bit before approaching Mojmira, who gives up her place by the spit to him with hushed words that put blush on his cheeks. He swats at her, and she ducks away with a giggle and a poke of her elbow to his side.

Gabriel, well aware it is his turn to hear admonishments, brings his attention back to Lila and her stern gaze even if his eyes want to linger on Jack for a moment longer.

"Witcher," she acknowledges him with a curt nod, "did you find what you were looking for?"

Did he? Gabriel observes Jack turning the spit, his face and neck still reddish, focused ostensibly on his task but the half-smile and the twist of his hips tell another story. Lord Murders-A-Lot sits perched on his shoulder with its nose scrunching as it scents the air.

Further in the back, in the shade of a plum tree, Sombra, with the lute hanging off her shoulder, talks with Adan. He postures - does he bark up a wrong tree, for in this one a cat that cares not for dogs sleeps - and futilely tries to stay his eyes from her barely fastened shirt

"I found a thing I never knew to look for."

Lila nods again, the incline of her chin still sharp - but deeper - the rings in her hair tinkle against one another with the movement.

"Take good care of him, witcher. There might not be another one of my son's like in the world."

"You knew?"

"The babe slept dead in my womb only to wake up." Lila twines her fingers together over her stomach. "When he opened his eyes, I saw a boy I'd seen once before as my mother brought me along to the village's alderman to see about the tylwyth foundlings."

Gabriel remembers it, Jack's small arms wrapped around him, chin propped on his shoulder, and the woman, her rich brown hair freely slipping from behind her back as she leans down to speak in a language he was yet to learn, with a girl fisting her skirts nervously at her side.

Soon after, they were both handed off to the witchers regardless of Jack's promises of the village taking in the cubs even as strange as Gabriel. In retrospection, Jack was the stranger one, with too blue eyes and complexion that knew no sun. A changeling, if there ever was one.

"And you are willing to give him up to me, just like that?"

Lila scoffs, her lips quirking up almost imperceptibly as she regards him silently, enjoying his jest.

"He isn't mine to give, witcher, no more than the wind swaying the wheat or a songbird's trill."

It is true Jack belongs only to himself - there is no power in the world to force him to do naught but what he wants as long as he is what he is- and it is this fickle nature Gabriel had once dreaded, for no reason but his own concern.

"He isn't yours to give, but mine to take."

Lila smiles, her forehead bowed; under the lashes her dark eyes seem so much older, like they'd seen the world turn whichever way too many times.

The eyes of a sorceress.

He spares a glance to the forest, no wonder she and hers were spared from the scourings.

"Come, witcher, sit, for today is time of revelry, and you are our honored guest."

She directs him to the table with a motion of her hand, turning already as if she considers their chat finished. Gabriel nods. The contract has been fulfilled, the fate won't be denied.

Sombra slipping into place by his side disperses those thoughts.

"Melitele's nips, am I hungry," she mutters and stretches vicariously before she switches her attention from the table to him, fingers idly tracing the line of her collarbone. "You look younger."

"I feel older."

"You're just tired."

"I don't tire," Gabriel counters but Sombra smirks and pats her chest above her heart.

"You're as stubborn as I am, but take it from someone with more experience than you: just let yourself feel, let him take care of you."

"Like Amelie had of you?"

The bait is tempered by the name, one of the many small concessions Gabriel made over the years, and the lines of Sombra's face soften into shy expression of contentment.

"Yes."

"Have you...?"

"He's been... most accommodating, I must say."

Gabriel merely nods, his attention stolen for a moment by the commotion Jack and Mojmira make, both laughing as they try to take the roast off the spit while struggling to keep it in one piece, broken up only by Lila showing up to help.

"How is she?" He acquiesces, finally.

"Better than ever." Sombra quietens, an unguarded smile flickers on her lips. "Thank you, for asking."

They spend minutes in shared silence, neither wanting to break the moment of understanding - the interruption comes from Wrenund's booming laughter coming from the house.

The man appears in the doorframe shortly after leading Nielub in front of him with his hand on the boy's shoulder; they're both dressed in festive linen shirts bleached impossibly white, with cuffs and collars embroidered with red thread in a simple pattern.

Gabriel finds he can't not smile at the boy's almost unrestrained energy, the wide eyes shining with excitement while he struggles to act solemn even if the day is one of celebration.

"Should I be the good godmother, or the spurned sorceress?" Sombra whispers.

"The versemonger.

"Ah, so be it." She braces her elbow on Gabriel's shoulder and leans against his side. They both watch Nielub sit on the prepared stool - his legs bounce up and down, and he grips the wood of the seat hard enough for the color to leave his fingers.

Wernund looks to his wife, who now stands together with Mojmira a few steps away. She nods and Adan brings forward a jug of water, Jack walks behind him with shears in his hands.

"Nielub, my son, today, you become a man." Wernund gently tilts the boy's head back.

With barely a trickle of water, he soaks Nielub's hair through and slicks them to his head before exchanging the jug for the shears.

The sound of metal grazing on metal and hair being cut fills the sudden silence even the birds don't dare to disrupt. In the fields, cicadas sing.

Each lock shorn, a piece of childhood shed for the new responsibilities. Wernund works with gravity and care - and when he's finished, and Jack retrieves the shears, he stands in front of his son, urging him to stand up.

"Today, you leave your child name behind."

"It has served its purpose and protected you. From now on, you are Woj, and you will be as strong as your name, you will be strong for your family, and no evil will best you."

Nielub - now Woj - smiles wide and throws his hands around Wernund's waist in an exuberant hug.

Jack thrusts the shears at Adan while giving him a determined look; Adan accepts them, rolls his eyes at Jack's back as he retreats towards the table in a hurry.

Lila and Mojmira both take their turn to hold Woj close for a fleeting moment, whisper secret silent words to him.

This time, Gabriel's medallion stirs under the cloth of his shirt, the movement barely perceptible, but it's there: a relief, grounding him in the feeling of reality, the last vestiges of doubt dissipating like tendrils of morning mist blown away by the noonday breeze.

Sombra notices, too, her face lighting up with well-hidden interest, and her arm shifting against his side - until the short reverie is broken by Jack planting the whole roast on a wooden board in the middle of the table before he unceremoniously forces himself between them.

Living. Breathing. Moving not unlike a drop of quicksilver in a juggled vial.

"Away with your bony elbows, ungulate," Sombra chastises him as she makes space. "One could cut jewels on your hips."

"I'm still growing!"

"The wrong way around."

"The right way," Jack pouts.

His arm sneaks around Gabriel's neck, palm hanging loosely over his shoulder, fingertips brushing against the fabric. Gabriel covers Jack's hand with his own, his thumb pressing slow circles into warm skin. "You just wait, I'll show you."

"Surely, I am scared out of my wits."

"Of course, you are, you third-rate lute-ruining bard, after all I am me," Jack pulls her close and presses a heartfelt kiss to her temple, at which she laughs, pushing him jokingly away.

"Piss off, ungulate," Sombra murmurs with no malice, "or I'll have you stuffed and mounted.

"The horror. Just promise you won't be fucking anyone on my back, I've heard stories, you know."

"Melitele's holy teats!" Sombra moans, looking to the sky, and Jack, taking the advantage of her indignation, turns to Gabriel to sneak a quick chaste kiss to his lips.

Gabriel smiles against his mouth, the whispered 'later, little cub' coiling warmly behind his ribs even as Jack backs off slightly, eyes cast down but not really, not a shy or proper bone in his body, nor in the toothy grin languishing on his face.

"So, who's hungry?"

In an answer, Gabriel's stomach rumbles with anticipation.

"Shouldn't we wait...?"

But Jack is up and hunched over the table with the knife in his hand, fingers pressing down on the roast as he masterfully carves out thick slices of the meat bleeding sweet-smelling juices.

And just in time, too, for the whole family to approach - Woj led to the seat of honor at the head of the table, Wernund at his right and Lila on his left - Adan and Mojmira bring the bread and the wine before settling down, her giggling and him merely rolling his eyes in kind.

They scuffle for a moment under the table, Mojmira emerging with a triumphant smirk and Adan giving up with a pained hiss, his palm raised in an admission of defeat - yet he still gives Jack a knowing look before Lord Murders-A-Lot scurries up the tablecloth to chitter at him.

Almost swatted away in return, Lord runs into Jack's waiting palm, and then up the length of his arm, to perch on Jack's shoulder shortly before it settles pressed against his neck.

"You dare to rise a hand to my cherished retainer?" Jack mock-challenges Adan.

"'Tis a foul beast you entertain at your court," Adan plays along, eyes narrowed with a smirk. "Good the vatt'ghern has arrived to slay the bloodthirsty creature."

"Only if you have the coin, good sir, half upfront." Gabriel chuckles, and Jack collapses into a fit of giggles.

Mojmira shushes them and pointedly looks to the head of the table.

Woj, with his father's guidance, picks a loaf and breaks it in half. The first piece he offers to Wernund, the other to Lila; repeats until every person at the table has their own piece of bread.

"I'm hungry!" He declares with unbidden enthusiasm - Adan toasts to it with his cup and a holler of 'hear, hear'.

Gabriel hardly notices the meat making its way to his bowl in the sudden boom of liveliness - Jack and Sombra argue loudly over some insignificant trifle.

Adan takes sides and Mojmira laughs unbidden before dishing out a scathing remark Sombra takes with no grace whatsoever, sputtering and tongue-tied for once - but that might be the doing of a bodice inconspicuously slipping lower.

Life goes on, regardless.

"Little cub," Jack draws his attention with a whisper, his eyes almost black in the most human way, cheeks flush with rowanberry wine as are his lips - a droplet of it in the corner of his mouth; Gabriel wonders if it would be sweeter if tasted in a kiss, almost succumbs.

Jack presses a cut morsel into his mouth; fingers brush against his teeth and tongue, slip out and trace his jaw, stop at his neck, press on the pulse of his heart in a deliberate caress. "Eat. And drink. You are a guest at my feast, too, cub."

He chews on the meat, slowly. The roast is surprisingly succulent, meat aged even if the game was caught yesterday, with a hint of bitterness tempered by the juices, and chased by the tang of the wine.

"Good," Jack murmurs and offers another bite with his fingers.

The conversations flow around them as if no-one takes notice, Jack's eyes imperceptibly darker - a shadow clinging to his irises - his smile light and possessive, like nature reclaiming the once carved out of it domicile, embracing it back after the time of long separation.

Which is, probably, the truth of it, on some level of abstract interpretation. Gabriel does not mind, for it is the way Jack is and loves - and he wouldn't have it any other way, not since the moment he had asked a god to step out of his forest domain, foolish as he was then.

Banishing the traitorous doubting thoughts, he settles into the quiet comfort of being cared for, unfamiliar and foreign after being denied it for years. They will be back, he knows, the whispers of disbelief questioning his own sanity - but for now, Jack straddles his lap.

And the wine Gabriel was right about, it is sweeter when drunk from the offered lips, the taste of it mingling with the living chaos.

Before she disappears, Sombra glances fondly at him over Jack's shoulder. A shape of a magic-wrought creature hovers above her palm.

The light weaves into a dragonlike form that takes flight as soon as it's finished - joined soon by others of its ilk in a slow dance. Woj chases after them with laughter, enchanted both by the show and the wine flushing his face with a blush. Sombra smiles as she joins him.

A moment later, horseback knights join the fray.

Jack untangles his fingers from Gabriel's hair and slips into the space she's left behind - his palm still rests on Gabriel's thigh, light and warm - and rejoins the conversation as if he's never abandoned it.

Gabriel lets it flow around him, sipping on his drink. The sun starts to dip and the boy, tired out by the playtime, naps with his head on his mother's breast.

Jack gives up his seat to Sombra and her lute, a fleeting touch sliding down Gabriel's back before he leaves.

Mojmira and Adan light the torches, Jack brings cold fish in a still crisp batter and, somehow, more of the wine. Gabriel wonders if Lila brews that much of it - or is it only for the festivities - or maybe there is an else thing afoot, and if Sombra might gleam the secret to it.

The first notes of the lute sound over the cicada song that grows steadily in volume.

Jack unceremoniously deposits himself sideways in Gabriel's lap, with a full cup in his hand he tosses off as soon as Gabriel puts an arm around his waist to keep him stable and in place.

"I do think, the day calls for the most splendid songs." Sombra strikes a chord, a devilish smirk on her lips, and Jack almost lunges at her with a squawk - if not for Gabriel's grip.

"Don't you dare, witch!" He sputters.

"Oh, but I do dare, ungulate, the least you deserve!"

She continues the melody in spite of Jack spitting and hissing like a cat at a witcher. Gabriel chuckles over the comparison before he presses another cup into Jack's palm and feels him capitulate in time for Sombra to start the song not fit for any place but a tavern.

"Please, just kill me," Jack whines with his face buried in the crook of Gabriel's neck when everyone at the table seems to know some semblance of the words that go with the tune, snorts angrily at the final chorus of 'he's never going to leave a lass unsatisfied'.

"I demand reparations, for my slandered reputation."

"If you, maybe, had a reputation first, to slander," Sombra waves him off before starting on another song.

"See, the next time? I'll leave you hanging up there in some tree, just so you know, so you can reap what you sow."

"Cry me a river, ungulate."

Hiding under Gabriel's chin and with his fingers kneading into Gabriel's sides, Jack whines about ungrateful traitorous witches - it's all too familiar, as if nothing has ever happened to break this idyll up - and for this, Gabriel is thankful.

Soon, Lila retires, with Woj barely conscious in her arms mumbling sleepily as she carries him into the house, and Wernund follows, leaving the night to the youth, as he says, his old bones needing their full night's rest.

Sombra switches her repertoire for a raunchier one.

Perfectly happy to just entertain them all between the sips of the wine Jack, in spite of his words, feeds to her to keep her throat wet. Her eyes follow Mojmira's silhouette with unbidden appreciation when she leaves - and then when she comes back with two more pitchers.

Somehow, Adan and Jack get into a drinking contest, each trying to drink the other one under the table in the shortest time possible, and, inexplicably, Gabriel finds his cup always full when he brings it to his lips, even after Jack bumps into it with his elbow and spills all.

The effect is not a too long wait away, Aden lies braced on the table, with his head buried in his arms, half awake and clutching at the empty earthen jug. Sombra hits low mournful notes on her lute.

"And don't ask me if I love you, don't you worry about what I think."

Jack slips off his lap and Gabriel snatches his hand before he has a sliver of a chance to disappear; Jack meets his eyes with a demure look and fingers wrapping around Gabriel's own wrist as he pulls him off the bench.

"Just know I'm yours in my own way," Sombra sings.

And Gabriel knows he's a sacrificial lamb led to its slaughter under the full moon - led past the dying torches - past the threshold of the barn he steps over out of his own unprompted volition. "But when I want to be your dream, I won't be satisfied with just your kisses."

Jack draws him down into the blankets spread over the straw, lets Gabriel fall into him, laughing and jittery, with sweet and tart aroma of wild berries on his breath.

In the moonlight sneaking through the window, Gabriel kisses reverently the blemish on his neck.

"I want to give you everything, everything I feel and even more."

Fingers grasp at his shirt; Gabirel's own palms slip under the fabric, exploring anew the skin now bereft of familiar scars save for one simple mark between the ribs, swift and kind, and loving - his mark, again.

The knife that had left it is years long whittled to nothing and broken, discarded once it failed to hold purpose anymore.

"What remains, belongs to you, cub," Jack whispers into his ear. He tugs the shirt over Gabriel's head; it catches on the string and pulls it off his hair.

The tossed cloth hangs halfway off the partition, Jack's own shirt pulled up and bunched at his neck as he giggles and twists to get it off; Gabriel's content to watch until there's a palm pressed to his shaft through the fabric of his trousers, grinding into it against his thigh

"Fuck."

Jack's lip curls upwards with a flash of teeth, in a lazy self-satisfied smirk.

"That's the idea, cub," he drawls, dragging his nails over the fabric, and Gabriel chokes on his own breath. Loath as he is to, he draws away from Jack, hands struggling at the strings.

He's only halfway done, the hem of the pants pushed barely past his hips, when slick fingers wrap around the base of his length. Jack gives it a leisurely pump, thumb moving over the head.

Gabriel grits his teeth - and then the potent smell hits him.

"Lavender?"

Something akin to embarassment flickers on Jack's face before he pouts, hand still.

"Beggars can't be choosers, cub."

"Where did you even get it?" Gabriel asks, incredulous, both at himself, for even inquiring in the present situation, and at Jack, for his pick.

"I made it," Jack huffs, and adds a muttered explanation. "With rapeseed. Couldn't take the lavender out after I put it in, obviously."

Gabriel laughs because, of course - of course - Jack wouldn't think of removing it by any other way; it's only the most Jack thing, ever.

He leans down, hand braced in the hay by Jack's head, and coaxes his lips open with a slow kiss. If his cock wasn't standing at attention like a preening Toussaint knightling during a royal inspection earlier, it sure as hell does now, with how Jack handles him.

Gabriel shifts his weight to the elbow; grabs at blond hair and pulls hard, drinking in the vibrating groan straight from the cusp - the kiss forceful and demanding now - the fingers around his shaft cooler but still burning hot compared to the night air licking at his skin.

It's this peculiar tension in the muscles that makes him pull away sharply.

"Stop," he orders, breathless. Jack fixes him with a glazed-over questioning look, mouth open and bruised, lips reddened and swelling already. "Do you...?"

"...don't mind, if you do, cub."

He wants to move again but Jack holds him captive and just shimmies out of his pants, almost kneeing Gabriel in the groin when he kicks the cloth away with his foot; Gabriel buries his forehead in Jack's neck with a hiss and Jack giggles, his knee brushing against Gabriel's side.

"Apologies, little cub." Jack murmurs under his breath, teeth nipping at Gabriel's ear as his hand finds Gabriel's and slicks it with fresh oil.

"You planned for this," Gabriel accuses with no bite behind the words, and neither surprised.

"I planned for when I'd find you, cub."

"We both know your harebrained schemes," he puts his palm between Jack's legs, satisfied with the subtle jerk, "don't last past a day or two."

"That's because I don't really try, then." Jack's leg impatiently bumps into his side and Gabriel pulls himself to his knees.

He takes a moment to observe - with Jack splayed over his lap - to take in his awkward disproportionate frame and the pouty face beset by tousled hair merging into one with the hay in the dim, the same mischievous boy who hunted small game with him so long ago.

He could have had it then, is the errant thought, then and there, in their not-so-secret cove, by the fire, on the bedding of dried leaves left by seasons passing - as awkward as they both were.

Jack's heel digs into his ass, bringing him back to the present.

"Stop getting lost in your head, cub, and fuck me already," Jack huffs, each word punctuated with another fretful jab, and Gabriel grabs at his thigh, laughing suddenly.

"She was right. Your hips are bony."

"Fuck you, I'm still growing!"

"Aefder, en'ca minne." Gabriel chuckles and slowly pushes in before Jack can get another word edgewise - and there it is, the tremble in the legs pressed to his sides, the mouth forming a silent 'o' fast covered with a palm he knows Jack bites into muffling the sounds.

Such a peculiar thing he does, always, but not this time, no. This time, Gabriel wants to hear everything so he leans down and pulls the hand away, plants his palm in the blankets by Jack's head - fingers dig into the soft of his forearm immediately. "Maethe esseath?"

"N'te voe'rle na me te bar'thu," Jack hisses at him, momentarily choking up on a small moan when Gabriel obliges. Buried to the hilt, and kissing the side of Jack's face, he waits for the tremors to subside.

"Maethe?"

"Yeá, Rhenaweddin," Jack breathes out.

For a blink of an eye, the dark of the bottomless desert wells bleeds into the blue of a mid-day sky, lingers at its edges in swirling patterns and pulls at the thing inside Gabriel that weaves the seeping shadows in his skin, the thing he would best leave buried and forgotten.

But Jack whispers 'me caen'd am te' and even drenched in blood and with a name that strikes fear, Gabriel cannot bring himself to care. He moves, unhurried, claws tangled in Jack's hair, listening to all the little sounds Jack makes as he clings to his neck with his other hand.

It's only when the nails leave marks that will take time to fade on his back, that he pauses; feverishly, Jack calls out for him not to stop - shameless as he is on Gabriel's cock for a creature with no interest in the act itself but for a passing curiosity.

Locked in his place and whining, he makes for a perfect picture of needy debauchery, and Gabriel notes absentmindedly to ask some other time - now he moves in slow deep strokes until the tension is almost unbearable and the legs around his waist try to drive his breath away.

Sharp teeth bite into his shoulder and draw blood when Jack comes untouched. Gabriel hisses in painful pleasure as he slots himself in just right in a few rapid jerks that feel like earth has opened down under him and he's falling - crashing - with nothing to break his flight.

He comes to Jack lazily lapping at the bite, his calves hooked behind Gabriel's thighs keeping him still inside.

"Cub?" Jack turns his head, his fingers stilling in their work of combing Gabriel's hair and the tip of his nose brushing against Gabriel's cheek.