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Eskel weighed his coin pouch in his hand while staring at something in the shop that Cahir could not see around his shoulders. The Witcher hummed and turned, “Have what you need?”
Cahir nodded, “Just so, though the baker insisted I return in a bit.” He tried not to be obvious in his spying, the Witcher was sure to deny looking at anything if he was asked bluntly. .
“Good, I’ll get Scorpion out of the stables and meet you by the notice board. Stay out of trouble while I’m gone?” This here, this was what Cahir was missing in years before he arrived at Kaer Morhen, camaraderie.
“I think you’ve forgotten who you’re travelling with, Eskel, we left Jaskier with Geralt.” Eskel laughed, though it caused two women passing them by to scurry onward. “Go on, before Scorpion gets restless. I’d like to be out of Verden by nightfall.”
When Eskel turned at the end of the street Cahir doubled back to the shop to find the item he’d been eyeing was a pair of gloves. They were butter soft leather and fur lined, the stitching done in silver thread. They had to have been custom ordered, large as they were. Big enough to fit Eskel’s hands. The fur is near golden and softer than all the down in a queen’s bed.
“How much for the gloves?” He asked the shopkeep with the confident demand of a man far above his station.
“Ah, our hundred and five ducats.” The shopkeep said.
Cahir snorted. “One hundred and thirty.”
“You’re insane. Those were made for the Son of Zerrikania’s Queen. The fur alone is worth more than thirty ducats.”
“And yet he’s not here. Therefore you’ll be hard pressed to find a single man or woman north of the Yaruga who would buy these.” He held the gloves up, the width of them on display to accent his words. “I’ll give you one hundred and thirty and you’ll thank me kindly.” The thin lipped shopkeep stared at him as if to judge his mettle and Cahir smiled. “What do you say?”
“Two hundred and fifty.” came the counter offer.
“One hundred and fifty it is.” The man spluttered but shook Cahir’s hand nonetheless. His hope of selling the gloves was next to nothing. Cahir tucked them into a bit of wax paper and hid them at the bottom of his bag. He’d give them to Eskel when the time was right.
A month and a half passed by without issue, save for a minor injury Eskel sustained during a contract. They worked their way up the continent until they camped at the bottom of The Killer. Three days and they would be warm, safe in the old stone halls with food and laughter. For the evening though, Cahir huddled around the fire with Eskel across from him as the last of their good rations bubbled away in a pot with a bit of rabbit.
“It isn’t mid winter yet, I know,” Cahir tugged his pack close and pulled the package from the bottom “but I saw you looking at it and I… well. I wanted to get it for you.” The Witcher is shocked though he hides it well. He took the paper package with the care one showed a newborn. His eyes creased as he pulled out the gloves, his happiness was clear.
“Thank you, Cahir.” Eskel pulled them on, careful not to tug on the fur too hard and that little smile grew a little wider. Eskel held out a gloved hand to beckon Cahir closer until he could squeeze his hand in his own. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Cahir couldn’t help but smile back, “I wanted to.”