Young Wolves, part 9! on AO3, here!THE FINAL PART IS HERE!!! I have actually finished a story! and I

Young Wolves, part 9! on AO3, here!THE FINAL PART IS HERE!!! I have actually finished a story! and I’m proud of it!! holy hell!thank you so much to everyone who’s read and commented, you’ve kept me going through the process!! and an extra big thank you to @asparrowsfall who worked their magic and made this fic much, much more than I ever thought it would be, and made me rediscover my love for writing. <3fic and warnings under the cut, as usual!Additional warnings: mention of sex and alcohol useThe last winter before setting off on their Paths is brutal for journeymen witchers, but despite the strain and stress, it is also an exciting time. The training is harder than it has ever been in their lives, and the thought of the dangers and solitude of the Path weighs heavy on every witchers’ mind. Geralt and Eskel are exhausted and on edge, and they fight with both fists and words, more than they ever have before. But they are also so, so close to what they have been preparing for their entire lives that they can’t help but to feel excited, eager to stretch their wings and have a taste of freedom.Geralt isn’t sure he has ever felt as satisfied as he does that winter, despite everything. Witcher training is a series of milestones that mostly serve just to remind novices and journeymen that they’re not full witchers yet, every achievement overshadowed by the perpetual feeling of “not quite there yet”. Except, now he is. He has learnt to brew all the witcher potions, memorized the formulas, he has mastered the signs - no matter what Eskel says - and he has proven himself in battle. He and Eskel get fitted for their new sets of armor: a short, studded jacket of sturdy leather and trousers to match, in the Wolf School style, as much an emblem of their guild as their medallions. Eskel studs the shoulders of his jacket with tiny, unnecessary, impractical metal spikes, and Geralt mocks him for it relentlessly. Later, he fucks Eskel in his armor, and the front of his jacket will likely carry the stain forever.Spring has not even settled in properly, only enough that the mountain passes are navigable on foot, when the time comes. Eskel, as he predicted, is the first to be sent off. Witchers don’t like to stand on ceremony, but the first journeyman setting off on his Path each spring always carries a momentous air. Mentors and peers gather to see him off, and novices cluster around, with admiration and hope in their eyes. They will get tired, when the weeks go on, and every sending off is as uneventful as the one before. The next witcher will leave three days after Eskel, but Geralt knows it will not be him.Eskel stands before the gates, the rising sun glinting off his still-unscathed armor and the hilts of his sword, and Geralt’s heart turns over. He kisses Eskel, desperately, savagely, while everyone is looking, and he can hear a few small gasps and murmurs from the gathered novices, but he is beyond caring. He grips Eskel stronger, kisses harder, and it is both a promise and a demand.Geralt grows more and more restless as the weeks go by, until Witcher Tomas grabs a bottle of rye and finds him, isolated and anxious in his and Eskel’s room. Tomas sits him down and they talk long into the night, and Tomas proceeds to tell him everything about himself and Georgei: how they came together, how anxious he was their first year and how everything worked out, in the end. Geralt breathes a little easier, after that. Tomas and Georgei both come see him off when he leaves three weeks later—the last one to go.Vesemir is there too, and he claps Geralt on the shoulder as a goodbye, but Geralt turns to hug him. When they part, Vesemir smiles a rare, proud smile, and Geralt grins back in response.The rising sun blinds him momentarily, when he emerges from the shadows of the keep, but he keeps moving forward. His feet will take him to Alesby village.The village, when he arrives four days later, is unchanged. He visited there on his first hunt — a swarm of drowners, and three young witchers to kill them, supervised by Master Aurus. It had gone well. He’d been the only one not to get even scratched, and had gotten to carry a lost peasant boy with a broken ankle back to his family. The boy had been close to his age, and nearly as tall, but Geralt still bore his weight valiantly, and was surprised when he received a tight embrace and a kiss on the cheek as a thanks. He unconsciously rubs his cheek, the memory feeling odd and detached, like it was a lifetime ago. Geralt wonders if the boy has grown to a man, like he has, or if the drowners managed to get him some other time.The walls of the inn were painted with bright floral patterns, Geralt remembers, so he makes his way to the only painted building in the village. He halts for a moment outside the door, paralyzed by possibility. As soon as he enters, Eskel will either be inside, waiting for him with a smile and an embrace, or he will not. He does not know why both possibilities terrify him. He takes a deep breath and opens the door.Geralt’s medallion trembles, minutely. The inside of the building is dark and warm, and empty save for two patrons and the innkeep. The innkeep takes one look at Geralt, notices his swords on his back, and turns away, rolling her eyes. Geralt catches her muttering about ’another wolf’, and cannot help but smile, lowering his head. The other patron, a middle-aged woman, is slouched over her table, desperately clinging to her tankard. She is of no interest to him, but taking stock of his surroundings is second nature at this point.A hunched over shape is sitting at a table in the farthest corner, with his back to the wall. Spiked studs point up from the shoulders of his leather jacket, and as Geralt steps closer, he also eyes a familiar stain on it. Two swords lean against the table, on clear display, both to drunkards looking for a fight, and to anyone looking to hire a witcher.He knows Eskel has heard him, sensed him from even before he stepped in the door, but he only raises his head when Geralt comes to a halt right next to him and puts a stilling hand onto the mug Eskel was turning over in his hands. He lifts his head, and looks from under his brows with a crooked smile. Geralt’s medallion vibrates, more strongly now, an irregular, urgent rhythm against his sternum, and his heart beats in time with it.“Hello, Wolf.” -- source link

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