Thief
Title: Thief
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Geralt z Rivii|Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier|Dandelion
Rating: G
Words: 100
Warning: None
Summary: When Geralt does a bit of spring cleaning, packing up his things as he prepares to leave Kaer Morhen at winter’s end, he finds something that doesn’t belong to him.
A/N: Thief was written for The Witcher Wheel of the Year - Imbolc collection.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
Poetic words never spilled from Geralt’s lips. But even he could find poetry in the promise of spring that dripped from the icicles outside his window.
Swords and armour stood ready by the door. Potions, concocted with his brothers in these long cold months, only awaited a contract.
He clasped the threadbare shirt to his nose. A missing button, ruffles that needed stitching, but the fabric still held scent. Mouth agape, Geralt inhaled.
Another droplet fell, landing on Kaer Morhen’s stony ruins below.
After a few more days of such poetry, Geralt could reunite the stolen shirt with its owner.
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Geralt z Rivii|Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier|Dandelion
Rating: G
Words: 100
Warning: None
Summary: When Geralt does a bit of spring cleaning, packing up his things as he prepares to leave Kaer Morhen at winter’s end, he finds something that doesn’t belong to him.
A/N: Thief was written for The Witcher Wheel of the Year - Imbolc collection.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
Poetic words never spilled from Geralt’s lips. But even he could find poetry in the promise of spring that dripped from the icicles outside his window.
Swords and armour stood ready by the door. Potions, concocted with his brothers in these long cold months, only awaited a contract.
He clasped the threadbare shirt to his nose. A missing button, ruffles that needed stitching, but the fabric still held scent. Mouth agape, Geralt inhaled.
Another droplet fell, landing on Kaer Morhen’s stony ruins below.
After a few more days of such poetry, Geralt could reunite the stolen shirt with its owner.