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Lambert struggled to stay on his feet as the chort charged him again.

The hunt wasn’t supposed to be for a chort. The contract posted was for a kikimora, and so Lambert had not worried about the fact that he had no specter oil on hand, and no devil’s puffs left.

How someone could mistake a fucking chort for a kikimora is beyond Lambert’s comprehension but hey, people find new ways to be stupid every day.

The chort had already swiped him once, taking out a pretty important chunk of Lambert’s side. At least he assumed it was important, because it hurt like a bitch and now he was dizzy with blood loss.

The chort charged and Lambert dodged out of the way, but not quick enough to avoid the tip of its horn clipping his shoulder. It launched him into the air, throwing him against the rocks with enough force to knock the wind out of his lungs. If he was dizzy before, it was nothing compared to now, stars sparking across his vision.

With a snarled curse, Lambert climbed to his feet again, swinging a wild reckless blow to the chort’s head. He had to make it count, because he wasn’t going to get another shot, with his vision blackening at the edges like it was.

The chort screeched and Lambert hacked at it again and again as it thrashed. Its paw managed to swipe Lambert one last time, right in the chest. Lambert lost his footing and landed on his back with a wheeze. He could hear the beast shudder and cry out, and then go silent, dead.

Dark spots floated across Lambert’s vision, and between the chunk of his side and the deep claw marks in his chest and the head wound…Lambert didn’t have any potions on him that hadn't been smashed to bits.

What a shit way to die, Lambert thought. In fucking Velen, in a goddamn swamp. The flies didn’t even have the decency to wait ‘til he’s dead before landing on him and he can’t summon the strength to so much as lift his arm to swat them away.

Lambert sank into the darkness with no real expectation to wake again.

*

Consciousness returned to him with all the gentleness of a rockfall. Everything fucking hurt as he cracked his eyes open to see the sky, painfully bright overhead. It took a moment to realize he was on a bedroll, and his armor had been taken off.

With great effort, he craned his head up to squint at his surroundings - he was in the woods, in a camp of some sort. There was another man sitting across from the fire from him. No, not a man - another witcher. He had twin swords strapped to his back and was currently sharpening a silver knife. He had dark hair pinned back behind his head, a handsome face, and was wearing light leather armor. As he looked up, the fire gleamed in his cat eyes.

“You’re awake,” the witcher said.

“Who are you?” Lambert asked.

“My name’s Aiden,” said the stranger. “You seem like you had a rough hunt.”

Lambert’s head was already throbbing from craning his neck this long with a concussion, but he squinted harder anyways. “What school are you from?” he asked.

“Manticores,” said Aiden, but there was a split second pause before he answered.

“Manticore, hm?” Lambert said. “Didn’t think you guys left Zerrikania.”

Aiden, if that was even his real name, shrugged. “I’ve traveled farther than my brothers,” is all he said.

Lambert let his head fall back again onto the bedroll, suspicion roiling in his mind. “So where’s your medallion, Aiden of the Manticores?”

The stranger didn’t answer.

Lambert lifted his head to glare at him. Aiden stared back before huffing out a sigh without answering, which sealed it for Lambert.

“Are you a fucking Cat?”

“Yes. I’m a fucking Cat,” said Aiden, reaching under his gambeson and pulling out the cat’s head medallion from where he’d tucked it away. “Happy?”

“What the hell are you playing at? What do you want?” Lambert demanded. He reached down and was glad to find that his knife was still in his belt as he drew it out.

The Tournament where the Cats had betrayed them and gotten half the school killed was barely a year ago. And Lambert maybe wasn’t fond of many of the Wolves, but he sure wasn’t going to sit here and get manipulated or used or whatever by some Cat looking to finish what they’d started.

Lambert was under no illusions that if the Cat wanted to kill him, Lambert would be able to do anything about it. Which really just made him angrier, because Lambert had spent a long time being helpless as a kid and he didn’t enjoy the reminder of what it felt like.

“Saved your life, you could just say thank you and leave it at that,” Aiden said quietly, looking away.

Lambert let out a laugh. “You whoresons murdered half my fucking school and now you want a ‘thank you’? You want me to suck your dick too while we’re at it?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Aiden muttered under his breath.

“Whatever you were hoping to get out of this, you’re not getting jack shit from me. I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire. Fucking backstabbing shitheads,” Lambert snarled.

Aiden got to his feet abruptly, grabbing bags from where they sat on the ground by his feet and standing up.

Lambert braced himself to get kicked or stabbed or something but Aiden just shouldered his own pack and then, after a moment’s hesitation, tossed Lambert’s bag across the campsite.

Lambert let out a grunt when it landed on his hip, jostling his injuries. His swords followed soon after, skidding in the dirt until they were within arms’ reach.

Lambert just looked at them in confusion for a moment.

“I had nothing to do with the Tournament, you fucking asshole. And I no more asked to be a Cat than you did to be a Wolf,” the Cat spat at him, before turning heel and disappearing into the woods.

Good fucking riddance.

Lambert let his head fall back on the ground with a thump that sent pain shooting through his skull again. He should stay awake in case the Cat came back, but instead sank back into unconsciousness.

*

Lambert woke up in the middle of the night, in pain and cold. He tried sitting up but only managed to collapse onto his back, gasping and cursing.

Blindly, he poked and prodded his injuries to see what the damage was. The chort had torn his right side to shreds, from the bottom of his ribs down to his hip, but it had been packed and sewn shut and bandaged. From the lack of fresh blood, Lambert guessed Kiss had been poured over it. His chest wound, two deep gouges from the chort’s claws, had also been sewn shut and bandaged. There was an aftertaste of death in his mouth that could only mean someone had forced a few doses of Swallow into him too.

The Cat, whatever his motives, had put quite a bit of work into making sure Lambert didn’t end up dead in a swamp.

He dragged his bags closer and pulled out a waterskin, and sipped, trying not to spill it or choke while being unable to sit up on his own. The realization sank into him unpleasantly like claws.

His bags and his swords had not been within arms reach before. The Cat had made a point of bringing them over, even though he was so angry by then, Lambert wouldn’t have thought anything of it if he’d just left. Lambert would have been stuck on his back, with no food, no water, and no potions for however long until he could drag himself across the clearing. It wouldn’t have killed him, but it would have made for a miserable couple of days.

And since he had nothing to do but think about it, Lambert couldn’t help but think that the Cat had nothing to gain by bringing him his stuff. Lambert had already made it clear he wouldn’t give the Cat anything, and the Cat left right after. More than likely they’d never cross paths again.

Lambert had already been pretty ungrateful for the help he’d received, had insulted him, and Aiden had still brought his bags over for him.

“Fuck, I probably owe him something,” Lambert grumbled to the night air.

*

Four years after the close call with the chort, Lambert sat in the most secluded corner of a rundown tavern somewhere in Temeria. He’d been run out of the last two towns, and he sat with his hackles raised waiting for this town to become the third. Whispers and muttered curses had followed him through the streets and into this dingy establishment.

It seemed to Lambert like the Path was just getting shittier and shitter. It wasn’t like anyone had ever really liked witchers, but he was pretty sure he never got threatened and stiffed on contracts this often before. The last few years had been a series of hostile villages and towns, and it meant that Lambert spent the entire time he was around people feeling like he was in danger. He hadn’t slept in a real bed in several weeks because even if an inn would let him stay, he couldn’t let his guard down like that unless he was deep in the woods. And at this point he’d given up on brothels all together.

It wasn’t improving his mood much.

“Alisburg caught themselves one of those freaks,” a hushed voice said three tables over, not realizing that Lambert could hear every word. The words drew Lambert’s attention. “They’ve got it strung up in the town square.”

“What, a witcher?,” says his companion.

“I saw it myself. The thing looked like half the town took a turn beating the shit out of it. “

Lambert’s grip on his cup tightened until he heard a faint crack.

“Seems dangerous to keep a witcher alive,” said another.

“We’d probably all be safer if they were all dead,” the first fool said darkly.

Lambert took that as his cue to leave, before anyone started getting ideas about stringing up a witcher of their own in the town square. He left the tavern and got his horse out of the stables. He kept his ears keen for any idiots that might have followed him out, but there was nothing.

He left town without anything more serious than a few curses and getting spat at on the way out, which was practically a fond goodbye these days.

Half the town took a turn beating the shit out of it.

The sentence was burning in Lambert’s memory and he knew he had to get to Alisburg. As dangerous as it was, as much as it would be wiser to walk away, Lambert couldn’t.

There was no way to know who they'd trapped there. Could be a Wolf, could be one of the few that Lambert actually tolerated. Even if they weren’t, could Lambert walk away and just abandon any witcher to that fate?

He’d have to be quick and smart about it, and he’d need to be very fucking lucky, but Lambert couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.

*

Alisburg was a quiet town, with no walls or gates around it, which was the first stroke of luck Lambert got. The second stroke of luck was that it wasn’t hard to find the alderman’s house in the middle of the night, nor was it hard to retrieve the captured witcher’s armor, swords and a half-emptied travel pack. It was an extra risk, but a witcher without armor or swords was destitute and as good as dead. If Lambert was going to do this, he might as well do it properly.

He loaded up the gear on his horse, on the edge of town, hidden in the tree line. He’d already taken a dose each of Cat and Blizzard, ready for a fight if some human wanted to try. It made his skin crawl, but it was a small price to pay to move fast and see in the dark. As prepared as he could be, he headed back into town.

The square was lit only by a sliver of the moon, but with Cat in his system, he could see everything in sharp detail. The captured witcher was on his knees, arms raised above his head, chained to a post in the middle of the square. As Lambert crept closer, keeping to the shadows until he finally had to step out into the open, he saw who it was.

It was the Cat from four years back, bloodied and bruised, his shirt ripped open in the back to show off whip marks that wept blood down his back. His matted hair hung in his face, head drooping down in exhaustion. There was a cloud of misery and hopelessness around him that hit Lambert with the force of a punch.

The Cat looked up at him, noticing Lambert’s existence. Something like hope flashed across his expression before he recognized Lambert, and it faded into something bitter.

“Come to gloat?” His voice is hoarse and his lips cracked. Lambert would think he was furious if his scent didn’t betray him, the acrid scent of fear and misery mingling until Lambert wanted to gag.

“Shut up, we have to be quick,” Lambert said. He stepped forward and Aiden flinched, tense as a bow string and heart pounding as he leaned away from Lambert as much as he could, knocking his flayed back into the post.

And look, Lambert was an ass and all, but he took no joy in scaring someone like that.

“I’m here to help, idiot, stop moving,” he hissed, crouching down and pulling out his lockpicks. “I’m not here to hurt you.” The Cat had frozen in place, and Lambert was glad for the potions in his system helping him see the locks better as he jimmied them open.

The cuffs were dimetrium, Lambert realized as he looked at them up close. Which made sense, but only made him feel dread because where the fuck was a small town like this getting dimetrium? Hatred like this did not exist in a vacuum, Lambert knew. There were people in power, mages, nobles whispering in people’s ears, egging them on, and apparently, providing them with the means to hurt and capture witchers, now.

The shackles clicked open and Aiden was clearly using them to hold up his weight, because he started to list sideways.

“Whoa, whoa -” Lambert caught him, drawing a hiss from the Cat. He reached into his pocket for the Swallow he’d brought along especially for this. “Drink this, come on.”

Aiden took it with a jerky, shaking hand and knocked it back.

“Can you walk or do I have to carry you?” Lambert demanded.

Aiden’s green cat eyes seemed to focus on him, and he nodded determinedly. “Can walk.”

Lambert hauled him to his feet, pulling Aiden’s arm over his shoulder. Aiden was taller than Lambert, and fucking heavy, as most of his weight fell on Lambert.

Lambert kept them to the shadows, creeping their way through town as quietly as possible. Aiden’s footsteps drag and shuffle on the ground as he struggled to keep himself standing, and it seems terribly loud in the stillness of the empty streets. The potions sharpened every sound, every bit of movement in his peripheral vision, until Lambert was just about ready to stab the next thing that moved.

The feeling didn’t fade much as they entered the tree line. Lambert’s horse was still waiting for them patiently. Aiden looked at the horse and seemed to steel himself before he let go of Lambert and grabbed onto the saddle. Lambert had to give him a very good shove to help him haul himself upright onto the horse.

Aiden slumped forward, pressing his forehead into the horse’s mane as he tried to get his labored breathing back to normal.

Lambert considered riding behind him, but decided against it. Aiden’s gear was strapped to the back of the horse, and Lambert needed to guide them carefully unless they wanted a broken-legged horse on top of the rest of this shitshow.

“Gonna tie you to the saddle,” Lambert said, pulling out a coil of rope from one of the saddle bags. “We need to be far from here when the sun rises.”

Aiden just nodded, and let Lambert tie him in place.

“Your only job is to stay on the horse and not die,” said Lambert. “Let's go.”

He started to lead them deeper into the woods, trying to get them well away from the road. Even away from the town, he was twitchy as hell. He had one hand on the reins, guiding the horse, and one hand holding a knife in a death grip.

“Do you have water?” the Cat asked, voice barely above a whisper, hours into their excursion.

“Yeah, yeah it's in the bags - when we find a safe space to stop,” Lambert said. They couldn’t stop now. They weren’t far enough. Lambert wasn’t sure what “far enough” meant in this context, but it wasn’t this.

The Cat didn’t speak again.

*

By the time they stopped by the river, half shielded by a rocky outcropping, the sky was turning gray with the encroaching dawn. Most of the potions had worked themselves out of Lambert’s blood, leaving him tired and aching, and only slightly less paranoid.

Lambert laid out a bedroll before turning to his companion.

The Cat was unconscious, slumped against the horse’s neck. His eyes cracked open as Lambert untied him from the saddle and pulled him down from the horse, to carry him to the bedroll.

Lambert pulled out another dose of Swallow and dug out a waterskin.

The Cat ignored the Swallow entirely, snatching the waterskin out of Lambert’s hands. He gulped down the water like a man dying in a desert.

Free from the all-consuming paranoia the potions and adrenaline had given him during the night, a terrible suspicion formed in Lambert’s mind.

“How long did they have you?” he asked.

“Nine days,” Aiden said, setting down the empty waterskin.

“Have you gone nine days without drinking?”

Aiden shrugged.

“Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?”

“I did,” Aiden said, knocking back the Swallow. Lambert handed him his own full waterskin. This time, the Cat drank at a slower pace. “Said we couldn’t stop.”

“Cause I was hopped up on Blizzard and convinced we were about to be chased by a mob of nutjobs,” said Lambert. “I wouldn’t have - you could have insisted, you idiot.”

“Thought it was a power trip, honestly,” said Aiden, in a tone that clearly showed he still thought it might be a power trip.

“I’m not pulling a power trip on a half dead, beat to shit witcher,” said Lambert. “What the fuck do you take me for?”

“Last time I saw you, you had a knife drawn and called me a backstabbing shithead,” Aiden said. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but if it’s revenge you want, this would be the time to get it.”

“What kind of revenge would I get from doing anything to you? You said you weren’t part of the Tournament.”

Aiden didn’t say anything, just stared at him expectantly, something furious and hurt burning in his eyes. He was bracing himself on shaking arms. Lambert didn’t like his odds of not collapsing in the next five minutes, eyes glazed with pain as they were, but he respected the stubbornness.

“Wouldn’t have given you potions if I wanted you dead,” Lambert pointed out.

“Then what do you want?” Aiden demanded. “Because I have nothing. No armor, no weapons, no fucking money, so forgive me for being wary about how you’ll want me to repay you.”

“For the love of - I’m repaying you, you idiot,” said Lambert.

Aiden blinked at him in confusion.

“Saved my life, four years ago, remember that? What, did you forget? Did they knock your brains clean out?”

“Fuck off,” Aiden said.

“Look, I won’t fuck you over if you don’t fuck me over. Agreed?” Lambert asked.

Aiden’s gaze started to look even glassier than before, and Lambert revised his prediction of ‘five minutes ‘til collapse’ to ‘thirty seconds’.

“Doesn’t matter anyways,” Aiden muttered at last. With a groan, he laid down on his side and then rolled over on his stomach, leaving his bloodied back exposed. “S’not like I can stop you.”

Lambert huffed out an annoyed sigh but honestly, he respected the suspicion as much as the stubbornness. Lambert kneeled down beside the Cat, ignoring the way the Cat tensed, and peeled away the scraps of Aiden’s shirt that remained.

Witcher healing meant the marks were in various stages of healing, some already scarring, some scabbed over, and others fresh and bleeding. It was only looking at them up close under light of day that Lambert realized that while some of the older ones were lashes from a whip, the newer ones were too deep and jagged for that to be the case. It was almost like…like someone had taken a knife and carved into his back. The knife wounds took meandering paths back and forth across his shoulders, ribs, and lower back. His back was streaked with blood.

Lambert had seen his fair share of abject cruelty before, but it still made him boil with fury every time.

“I should have fucking killed them,” said Lambert, reaching for a needle and threading it. “Should have dumped enough potions in the town well to poison the whole lot of them.”

His plan had never been to kill anyone. Killing humans was a good way to get not just kicked out of town but chased, hunted. He’d been so focused on getting in and out quickly that he hadn’t entertained revenge fantasies much.

It was different when faced with this.

“This is going to hurt like a bitch,” said Lambert. “Breathe in, kitty.”

Aiden huffed out what might generously be called a laugh at the nickname, but did as he was told, and Lambert slid the needle into the flesh with a smooth practiced motion.

It was slow, tedious work. There was just so much to be repaired. As he worked, the only sound was the Cat’s unsteady, pained breathing and his too fast heartbeat. There was still fear in his scent and Lambert hated it.

“Can you - can you talk?” Aiden asked at last.

“About what?”

“Anything, just - fucking talk, please.”

“Uh, right, alright - so, I hunted a selkimore a couple of weeks ago,” he started, and just rambled about the last few months of shit hunts and shittier pay, and then onto the potions he had to restock and what ingredients he was missing - anything to keep talking because while the fear never left Aiden’s scent entirely, it seemed to lessen, so Lambert kept talking. He paused to re-thread his needle for a third time, blood slicked hands not making it easier. When he went to start his bloody work again, he stopped, listening closely.

There was a soft, quiet noise coming out of Aiden’s chest. The Cat’s head was turned away from Lambert, eyes drooped almost closed, almost unconscious.

“I didn’t know you guys could purr,” said Lambert, starting up his work again.

The sound cut off abruptly. “Sorry,” Aiden said, voice weary. “Instincts.”

“Instincts,” Lambert repeated.

“Uh…when we’re hurt. Helps,” Aiden explained.

“Then why’d you stop? You need all the help you can get.”

But Aiden was tense again, and the sound didn't return and Lambert suspected that this was somehow a weakness Aiden never meant to show.

“What’s the point in hurting when you don’t have to. They drilled it into our heads - pain relief is weakness, comfort is weakness, any fucking good thing? Weakness. The Path’s shit enough as it is, why are we supposed to make it worse?”

Aiden let out a hum. “No weakness on the Path. Won’t survive.”

“Fuck that,” said Lambert. “It’s not weak, it’s just not being a miserable bastard suffering for nothing. But what do I know?”

“You must have been popular with your trainers.”

“Oh yeah, student of the year, that’s me.”

Aiden let out a small huff of laughter again, and then - the purring started again, quietly and almost hesitantly. Lambert didn’t comment on it, but it felt like a small victory.

He bandaged Aiden’s back before moving onto his wrists. He put poultice on the raw, open wounds before wrapping clean bandages around them. He noticed half-healed burn marks on Aiden’s forearms, like someone had taken a red-hot poker to him again and again. He put poultice on a few of the fresher ones, but most of them are healed already.

Because Aiden had spent nine fucking days with those people, which was enough for the mutagens to do their job and heal him up. Nine days, and apparently no one in that town had thought to intervene. Not one person with a shred of decency.

Lambert’s hands were shaking with rage that had nowhere to go.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Aiden said quietly. “Without gear.”

“It’s on the back of the horse,” said Lambert, only barely holding back from calling an idiot again. “Your swords, your armor. Even got a half empty bag. You're shit out of luck for coin, though.”

“Oh. Oh, Wolf - I’m in your-”

“If you say you’re in my debt again, I’ll fucking stab you,” said Lambert.

Aiden snorted then winced. “Don’t make me laugh, my ribs are fucked,” he said. “Fine, no debts between us. Will I get stabbed if I say thank you?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” said Aiden with a smug little smile.

Lambert wanted to stab him on principle, but the Cat looked like he might not survive that. “I was right, before, you are a shithead,” he said. “Come on, kitty, you need to sit up.”

Aiden groaned as Lambert helped pull him into a sitting position again. Lambert propped him up against a tree. Aiden hissed as it pushed against his bandaged back but said nothing.

Lambert dug a fresh shirt and what little food he did have and tossed most of it to the Cat. Lambert chewed on a bit of jerky and weighed the risk of hunting. Aiden ate like a starving man, and Lambert couldn’t help but think that if he were human, he’d make himself sick.

Well. If he were human, nine days without water, he’d be dead. Even as a witcher, it was a miracle he wasn’t.

Lambert refilled their water skins and packed up what little he’d unpacked. Aiden was able to walk with minimal assistance, though it was slow going and stiff, and even managed to get onto the horse with minimal shoving from Lambert. The extra dose of Swallow seemed to have done some good, Lambert thought.

He took hold of the reins and started leading them deeper into the woods, vaguely south-east. He had no destination beyond that.

*

The day stretched on into evening, the light turning gold and warm like honey, and Lambert was pushing on through sheer stubbornness alone, as his limbs got heavy and it became hard to think of anything other than sleep.

Aiden looked at him with thinly veiled concern that just got on Lambert’s nerves (in fairness to the Cat, everything was getting on his nerves at this point. Existence was an annoyance in and of itself). “Are you planning on walking through the night again, Wolf?”

“Maybe. D’you want me to tie you to the saddle again so you can sleep?” Lambert snapped, because the Cat had the luxury of sleeping in the saddle, but Lambert had to keep pushing on. He refused to be jealous of a man that had been half tortured to death, and yet -

“I think we should make camp for the night,” said Aiden, ignoring his question.

“If they’re following us -”

“Then we would have heard them by now. We are far off the road, clearly no one is coming. And you look like you’re about to drop dead, no offense.”

“I’ll take a Tawny Owl,” said Lambert. He should’ve taken a Tawny Owl hours ago, really, but it was always a miserable potion to take. It never made him less tired, not really. The resulting feeling of being unnaturally wide awake and alert, while somehow still being so tired he could die, was really an experience Lambert liked to avoid.

“Or you could just sleep,” said Aiden.

“It’s not safe.”

“How are you the more paranoid one between the two of us?” said Aiden. “When I’m the one that got jumped and nearly killed?”

“Maybe if you’d been a bit more paranoid, you wouldn’t have gotten jumped,” Lambert snapped.

The silence was tense for a moment. Lambert tried to find some way to walk back what he’d just said but his mind was tied up in knots and all he felt was frustration.

“It’s as safe as we’re going to get,” said Aiden at long last, almost gently. “We’re not going to be safe anywhere, not really. Might as well rest when we can. I thought you - you said you didn’t believe in that ‘stoic witcher suffering for no reason’ bullshit.”

“I don’t,” said Lambert.

“Then rest,” Aiden said. “And let me rest too. The saddle’s doing nothing good to my ribs, let me tell you that.”

Lambert felt the fight leave him. “Fine. Fine, we can stop soon,” he muttered.

*

They were still following the river, so they set up camp on the edge of the riverbank. Well, Lambert set up camp. Aiden managed to sit without falling over and that was about the limit of his capabilities at the moment.

Lambert took the time to set snares but he wouldn’t be awake long enough to make use of them tonight. He split what little food was left between him and Aiden, and then dropped down on his bedroll.

The Cat was taking the time to unpack the bundle of armor and weapons that Lambert had gotten back from the alderman. There was a half-empty bag tucked with it, filled with odds and ends, a monster journal, and a few copper pennies rattling in the bottom.

“Go to sleep, Wolf, you look worse than I do,” said the Cat, shooting him a smile. He was looking over his knives and had dug up a whetstone from his bag.

Lambert hadn’t slept near a stranger in years. Whores didn’t like it when you lingered, and Lambert had only ever traveled with other Wolves, for brief times when their paths crossed.

Now, he was contemplating sleeping a few feet away from someone he barely knew, a Cat no less, who was sharpening knives that could easily slit his throat.

He forced himself to lie down, staring up at the darkening sky, the first stars starting to blink into existence above him.

The sound of the whetstone passing on the blade is rhythmic and familiar. He couldn’t help but think that he didn’t know anything about Aiden. Yes, they’d helped each other out but he didn’t know what kind of man he was, not really. Maybe he would slit Lambert’s throat in the night rather than owe some kind of debt to someone. Maybe he would slit Lambert’s throat for fun. Maybe he’d steal every penny Lambert had and run off with his horse.

He heard the whetstone stop, and the noise of a blade being sheathed and bags being shuffled about. He glanced over just in time to see Aiden lower himself down to sleep on his side in a very slow and stiff motion, turning his back on Lambert.

Lambert waited one moment, then another. Aiden must know he was still awake - he could hear Lambert’s heart and breathing just as well as Lambert could hear Aiden’s. Despite that, between one breath and another, Aiden’s heartbeat slowed and he was asleep.

Just like that, like Lambert couldn’t kill him while he slept. Trusting Lambert not to.

There was a little voice in Lambert’s head that whispered that maybe the Cat was right, and he really was getting a bit too paranoid.

It didn’t matter, really, because sleep deprivation was starting to smother out all those instincts to protect himself. His eyes closed without his permission.

Well. If they hadn’t fucked each other over yet, they probably wouldn’t tonight, Lambert thought before he gave up and fell asleep.

*

Lambert woke up to the sound of someone whistling. His first instinct was to grab his knife, before his sleep muddled brain caught on that it was just Aiden.

He sat up and saw the Cat was sitting on the edge of the water, shirtless, wringing water out of his hair. His back still looked horrific, held together by Lambert’s stitching, though the wounds had thankfully begun to seal shut. There were bruises on his ribs and stomach that were already turning a dull yellow. Lambert found his eyes lingering on him, on his tanned skin and lithe muscles and the faded scars that all witchers bore.

Aiden was, unfortunately, a very attractive man. And Lambert hadn’t been allowed into a brothel in months.

Well. There was no harm in looking, was there?

“Enjoying the view?” The Cat asked without turning around.

“Looking at my handiwork,” Lambert said, forcefully pulling his head out of the gutter.

Aiden craned his head, trying to look at his own back. “It’s healing well, all things considered. Should be good to remove them tomorrow,” he said. “Where are we heading, anyways?”

“Don’t know, didn’t plan any further than getting the hell out of town,” said Lambert.

Aiden pulled his shirt back on, slow and stiff. His hair dripped onto the collar, still wet. “Well, I think I know where we are,” he said. “If we keep following the river, there should be a town called Wilhem’s Point, a couple of days from here. I dealt with a drowner infestation for them a few years back. They were friendly enough towards Witchers back then.”

A lot could change in a few years, Lambert knew. Still. “Good a chance as any,” he said. “As long as there’s work.”

*

They traveled by the river bank, and as they do, Lambert got the chance to observe Aiden when he wasn't furious or half-dead. The Cat was constantly whistling or humming, like he couldn't stand the quiet. He was restless. Even though he was still injured and moved stiffly, he was constantly fidgeting with something or other, twirling one of his smaller knives around his fingers deftly. There was a trapped energy inside him, and good humor, despite what he’d just survived.

Lambert wouldn’t admit anywhere but inside his own head, but…as they made camp for the second time, Lambert could already feel his guard lowering around the Cat. Which was weird, and maybe dangerous, but a bit of a relief after so long on edge.

It was still hard to get to sleep with him nearby, and he only managed it once Aiden was sound asleep first.

The night before they were set to arrive in town, Aiden asked Lambert to take the stitches out, as they sat by their campfire.

This time, Aiden was very much armed and could stab him if Lambert startled him from behind, but he found that Aiden wasn’t tense like the first time around. Carefully, Lambert pulled the stitches out of Aiden’s back, one by one, and didn't think about the intimacy of touching someone like this, fingers brushing against warm skin as he slid thin scissors under the threads.

“Thanks, Wolf,” said Aiden with a smile that made Lambert feel stupid.

“Shut up. Let’s keep going.”

*

The river brought them eventually back to the road, where a bridge crossed over into the small town of Wilhem’s Point. The town was bustling, and while Aiden and Lambert got a few wide-eyed stares, it didn't go much beyond that.

On the town board, there was a contract for a nest of Nekkers on the other side of the woods. There was no price listed, just a note to speak to the alderman, and Aiden pulled it off the board and pocketed it swiftly.

The alderman was a short, stout balding man who looked warily at Lambert when he opened the door, but then saw Aiden - and smiled.

“Master Witcher, we meet again,” he said.

“A pleasure to be back,” said Aiden with a smile of his own. “Though I wish it were under better circumstances. Nekkers giving you trouble?”

The alderman nodded gravely. “We’ve lost a couple of hunters already. You and your friend have arrived just in time.”

“What’s the price?” Aiden asked, and smoothly negotiated a more than fair price for their work. The alderman shook his hand without fear, and Aiden led them towards the only inn in town.

Aiden must feel the way Lambert was looking at him incredulously, like he just watched him perform a miracle. “What? I told you, they like witchers well enough here.”

But as he watched Aiden sweet talk his way into a room for them both at half price - which Lambert had to shell out the coin for, since the Alisburg folk robbed Aiden blind - as he watched this all unfold, he thought that maybe it wasn’t witchers they like so much as Aiden himself.

Aiden was, apparently, fucking charming when he wasn’t half dead.

*

They head into the woods in the direction that one of the dead hunter’s wives pointed them towards. The woods were quiet, unnaturally so, like there was a predator or several nearby.

Lambert moved quietly through the underbrush, because he was a fucking professional and he’d be a poor witcher if he couldn’t manage that. But Aiden was completely silent, and if Lambert couldn’t hear his heartbeat, or see the occasional flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, Lambert wouldn’t know he was there at all.

It had been a couple of years since he’s hunted with someone, and never with someone from another school.

The nekkers almost got the drop on them, but Aiden whistled sharply to get his attention and Lambert had time to look towards him and see the movement in the trees before they got close.

They were constrained by the trees, which was not Lambert’s favorite way to fight, trying to hack at the things without lodging his sword in a tree trunk. Aiden didn’t bother with his swords, drawing two silver knives instead. He was fast, so much so that Lambert could barely keep track of him with half his attention on the nekkers. That was the thing about fighting with a partner, part of your attention had to be on them unless you planned on stabbing each other by accident, which would kind of defeat the point.

Lambert lopped off a nekker’s head in a spray of dark, blackened blood, and saw Aiden leap, using a tree as a springboard to jump over two nekkers neatly, stabbing them both in the back before they had time to even turn. Lambert hacked another one through with his sword as it leapt at him from the side.

It was their first fight together, but Lambert was pleased to see that they moved pretty well together. Aiden was fast and acrobatic, and Lambert was a doggedly persistent fighter that could plough through anything.

When the last nekker fell dead, Lambert’s sword through its body, Lambert glanced over at Aiden. “Alright?”

Aiden was splattered in nekker blood, and nodded. He sheathed one of his knives, but kept the other one handy as he crouched down to start harvesting parts.

This was, by far, Lambert’s least favorite part of potion making, and that was collecting monster parts. But it was something he’d done a million times before, so he also crouched down and pulled a knife out of his boot to start the oh-so-pleasant process of carving eyeballs out of dead monsters.

He was cursing quietly under his breath, half forgetting that the Cat was still with him.

“Squeamish, Wolf?” Aiden asked cheerfully, shoving a nekker’s heart that was still dripping goo into his bag. “Wouldn’t have thought so.”

“I’m not fucking squeamish,” said Lambert. He wasn’t. He wasn’t about to faint or throw up. He just fucking hated his job, some days.

Aiden seemed to eye him for a second. “I’ll finish harvesting if you promise to brew enough White Raffard’s for both of us.”

Lambert eyed him too, suspicious. “What’s in it for you?”

“I don’t have to brew a tedious fucking potion,” said Aiden.

Lambert hadn’t considered that potion making could be something you hated. Sure, people bitched about it in school, but they bitched about everything. Alchemy was the only part about being a witcher that Lambert liked.

“You’re fucking weird if you’d rather be plucking eyeballs than sit still and watch a potion for a couple of hours,” said Lambert, but he was already standing up and wiping his hands.

Aiden hummed, but kept cheerfully and systematically carving eyeballs and hearts out of the nekkers while Lambert watched in weird fascination. “Well, then, I think we’re well matched hunting partners, don’t you think? I’ll harvest and you’ll brew and we’ll both be happier for it.”

Something in Lambert’s chest twinged at his words, the Cat talking like this would ever happen again. Realistically, Aiden was back on his feet and would have a bit of coin from this job, so they’d probably be splitting ways and they would be lucky to cross paths again in a few years if that. There was no reason for them to keep hunting together.

Except.

Except that this town was an anomaly, and Lambert knew it. It was dangerous just existing in the line of sight of a human being these days. Once they parted ways, Lambert would go back to jumping at shadows and being ready for a fight at all times. And it wasn’t like being with Aiden would change that entirely, but it would be nice to have someone to watch his back. He wasn’t sure he trusted the Cat entirely yet - suspiciousness and guardness come naturally, and his trust was hardwon. He still couldn’t fall asleep before the Cat did.

The prospect of other hunts, of traveling together for a while - it surprised Lambert with how much he wanted it. The idea of splitting hunts, of not being alone at night, of trading off chores like harvesting parts and brewing potions, of just not being in this shitshow alone, well, Lambert wanted it all of a sudden.

Lambert never got to have what he wanted, though. Not to keep, at least.

“We should head back,” he said abruptly, before he said something stupid. Aiden didn’t argue, just wiped the blood off as best as he could, and they returned to town.

*

The alderman paid them without arguing and even thanked them, which was very novel. It left Lambert in a better mood than he’d been in weeks, as they headed back to the inn.

Their room was small and only had one bed in it. They didn’t have coin for anything else, even with Aiden sweet-talking the proprietor. Split in two, the contract hadn’t paid THAT much.

“Split the bed?” Aiden asked, unbuckling the straps of his armor.

Lambert grunted the affirmative. He didn’t think much of it - it was practical, and really couldn’t be much different than sleeping next to him on the forest floor.

With the candles blown out and the room dimly lit only by what moonlight could filter in through the thin curtains, it felt different though. The bed was not that wide, and neither of them were small men. Aiden turned his back to Lambert as he always did, trusting easily and freely, while Lambert stayed on his back, staring at the wood planks of the ceiling.

It was quiet, and it was nice to hear another heartbeat closeby. It was so nice it made Lambert's chest ache.

It was quiet, and Lambert wanted.

“Wolf.”

Lambert ignored him, the feeling of wanting and wanting and wanting threatening to choke him.

“Wolf. Wolfie.”

“I have a fucking name, you know?” Lambert managed to bite out.

He couldn’t see him, but he could hear the smile in Aiden’s voice as he answered: “I’m sure you do, but since you’ve yet to tell me what it is, I’ve no choice but to call you Wolf.”

Lambert’s chest was caving in on itself and he couldn’t, for the life of him, explain why. “Lambert. My name’s Lambert.”

“Lambert,” Aiden said. His voice wrapped around it with amusement and warmth. “You’re thinking very loudly tonight. Go the fuck to sleep.”

“You go to sleep,” Lambert retorted. It was half a childish comeback, and half an honest request, because he wouldn’t be able to sleep until Aiden was under.

Aiden huffed a quiet laugh. “Fine, fine, I will,” he said, shifting under the covers. “Well. Whatever you’re worried about. I’m sure it’ll look less dire in the morning.”

Lambert listened to Aiden’s heartbeat slow down and his breaths deepen and wondered what it would be like not to walk the Path alone.

*

Lambert woke to the sound of whistling, and the first thing he said was: “What’s that song?”

“Oh - uh, a Redanian folk song. Don’t know if it has a name, it's mostly used to time how long to cook bread.”

Lambert sat up in bed. Aiden was sitting in the rickety chair in the corner, sharpening his silver knives. “You’re a strange witcher.”

“Well, most witchers are miserable bastards, so that’s probably alright,” said Aiden. “Don’t forget you promised me a batch of White Raffard’s today. The hearts aren’t going to keep.”

“How late do we got the room for?”

“Til noon.”

“Alright.”

Lambert unpacked his alchemy supplies, stoked the fire in the hearth and set his pot over it. Alchemy required precision. It was delicate work, that took focus and care, or else you were likely to poison yourself or set something on fire. Lambert could brew pretty much anything from memory these days. Potions were almost meditative to him, familiar and easily made now. The really interesting stuff, the experimentation and the fine tuning of his creations, he kept for the winters at Kaer Morhen, when he had a whole lab to work with. That work was as frustrating as it was fascinating.

Aiden was throwing knives at the ceiling, moving to humming another song. Lambert could almost feel the caged up energy coming off of him.

“Will you go outside or something, for the love of Melitele?” Lambert said, as another knife thudded dully into the wood.

Aiden had to jump to pull his knives from the ceiling. “And miss out on your lovely company?”

“Go - get supplies or something. Get us food for the road. And the horse is going to need more feed.”

The scent of unease came off Aiden, even though his expression hardly changed. “Suppose we do need some stuff, if we want to leave today.”

Lambert watched him meander around the room, fidgeting with his bags for far too long just to pull out his coin purse.

It would be his first time alone since Lambert pulled him out of Alisburg, Lambert realized. If Lambert was feeling twitchy around people, Aiden must be way beyond that.

“I’ll come looking if you aren’t back in an hour,” said Lambert casually.

Aiden glanced at him, something like relief flickering over his expression before it was gone. He nodded and slipped out of their room. The room fell quiet, and Lambert realized that he too had not spent much time alone since Alisburg. He turned back to his potions.

*

It was nearing the end of the hour Lambert had promised to wait for Aiden, and the White Raffard’s had been brewed and split between glass vials, when Lambert heard the window behind him scrape open.

Lambert whirled, knife drawn, to find Aiden climbing in through the window, a full bag over his shoulder.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Aiden tossed the bag on the bed, closing the window behind him. “Uh. Does the whole ‘no stoic witcher bullshit’ thing still stand?”

“Uh - yes?” Lambert said, not putting the knife away quite yet.

“I panicked,” Aiden said.

“You panicked.”

Aiden nodded, then flopped down on the bed. Lambert waited. Aiden seemed content not to answer. He could hear the Cat’s heart, beating far too fast for a witcher.

“Alright. You panicked. Are we actually in any danger? Well, more so than usual.”

“Don’t think so,” Aiden said quietly. “It was just women by the well, talking about how they wished the alderman didn’t let us stay in town because we were dangerous. They were - riling each other up, scaring each other with tall tales of what witchers get up to in their spare time.”

Which was common enough, and in past years Lambert would have scowled and moved on. It was harder to shrug off these days. A group of women working themselves up to a panic, and suddenly their husbands get involved, and then their neighbors, and their friends, and with each person added, they would rile each other up even more. And then it would turn into rocks and pitchforks and mobs and all that.

Lambert started to pack up their belongings, and dropped half the newly made potion bottles into Aiden’s bag, the other half into his own.

He knew this was where they parted ways, if not today and then tomorrow at the latest. If times were normal this was where they would split up and the Path would return to being quiet.

It wasn’t normal times, though. The world was shifting rapidly and it was not going in favor of Witchers. Lambert sometimes felt like he could see the writing on the wall, a sinking feeling in his gut that things were going to get ugly in a way they never had before.

“D’you want to travel together for a while?” Lambert asked suddenly. He saw Aiden go still in the corner of his eye. “Look - safety in numbers, right? Maybe two witchers traveling together will make folk more nervous and more dangerous. Or maybe they’ll think twice about attacking us. Maybe we can keep a better eye on things, trade off watches if we need to. I know it's not the witcher way, but I don’t give shit about any of that, and neither should you.”

“Is this just pity, because I’m apparently too shaken to even go get supplies at the market by myself?” Aiden asked, trying to sound light and mostly just sounding weary.

“Fuck that , you think I’m any better?” said Lambert. “ I’m tired of looking over my shoulder. I’m tired of being surrounded by dickheads that might turn on me at any moment. Something bad is coming, Aiden.”

Aiden looked at him, considering. “All right. Where did you have in mind?”

“Fuck if I know,” said Lambert.

“Well, farther South would probably be best. Whatever’s brewing, it seems worse up north.”

“Sounds good.”

*

They left Wilhem’s Point behind them, traveling further into Temeria down the road heading south. They’d only got the one horse between them, but now that he was back to full health, Aiden apparently had boundless energy, and they set a decent pace.

It was a few days into their travels together, and Lambert had gone off on his own to hunt, leaving Aiden behind to set up camp and care for the horse. He returned with a brace of quail in hand hours later, just as the evening light was turning gold.

The campsite, when he arrived, was deserted. The horse grazed the clover growing by the trees, the fire was lit, their gear and bedrolls were spread out, but there was no sign of Aiden. Lambert would never admit to the spike of fear he felt when he realized Aiden was gone.

He’d probably gone off to find water, or to take a leak, or just got restless, Lambert rationalized. There was no reason to jump to the conclusion that Aiden had fucked off without him, especially since all his gear had been left behind.

A sharp whistle caught his attention, and he looked up - to see Aiden sitting up in an elm tree, straddling a branch and leaning back against the trunk, a good fifteen feet up. “Up here, Wolf,” said Aiden with a grin.

“The fuck are you doing up there?”

Aiden shrugged.

So Lambert added that to the list of things he knew about Aiden - he got restless easily, he was faster and stealthier than any witcher Lambert had ever known, and when left unattended for too long, he started to climb trees.

*

The Path was no longer quiet. Aiden whistled or hummed to himself as they traveled, never seeming to repeat the same song twice. Lambert expected it to get on his nerves, but he found that he liked it. He liked the reminder that he wasn’t alone, he liked that it made the endless trek through the wilderness less dull.

“Do you know the words to all these songs you hum?” Lambert said, out of the blue one night as they sat by the fire. Aiden was mending a shirt and humming something low and soft.

Aiden shot him a look that Lambert couldn’t parse. “For most of them, yeah.”

“You should sing, then,” Lambert said.

After a beat, Aiden started to sing again, voice low and quiet:

“I am no king, and I am no lord.

And I am no soldier at arms," said he.

Lambert wasn’t sure, but he thought that this might be just as much a show of trust as the purring was, all those weeks before. Aiden sang more often after that, and it seemed to loosen something within him, like the last of his guard was brought down around Lambert.

*

When they ventured into towns, as they inevitably had to in order to find work, they were met with hostility and suspicion and once, memorably, by rocks being thrown their way. But the folk seemed less likely to try their luck shortchanging two witchers rather than one, and Aiden was good at smoothing things over with the locals, in a way Lambert never was.

It wasn’t always enough. Aiden could be charming and kind and polite, but if they’d already made up their minds that witchers were beasts, it wouldn’t do any good. It made Lambert’s blood boil. He knew it was getting to Aiden too, the Cat’s temper quick to flare, but Aiden’s rage was quieter than Lambert’s.

There was also the fact that if something were to go wrong, Lambert knew Aiden could come looking for him, and vice versa. Someone would notice if he never came back. That, more than anything, made it easier to breathe.

*

Coin was tight when split two ways, so when they were able to stay in town, they split a bed. In the dark, the feeling of wanting always creeped up on Lambert again. Having Aiden’s body nearby, warm, bumping into him and brushing against each other as they moved in the night - it was too much and yet not enough. The Cat’s heartbeat became the background noise to Lambert’s days and nights.

*

They were on the southern edge of Temeria, after a fight with a bruxa that was brutal even with two witchers. They deemed the town safe enough to sleep in, and Lambert had paid through the nose to get them an inn room, because he was fucking tired.

It was past midnight when they made it back to their room. Lambert was sore and mildly concussed from being thrown into a tree, but otherwise uninjured. The headache was a bitch though, and from experience he knew that potions wouldn’t do jack shit.

He shedded his armor and his shirt and crawled into bed. He could hear Aiden move around the room, getting rid of his own armor and washing up. He listened to Aiden’s heartbeat, slow and steady and Lambert was out cold within seconds.

The next morning, he woke to the first light of dawn coming in through dirty, warped windows. The Cat’s arm was slung across his waist, his face pressed against Lambert’s shoulder. He realized he’d fallen asleep before Aiden, without even thinking about it. His instincts, somewhere along the line, had stopped seeing Aiden as a threat.

The bed was warm and someone was touching him without fear or disgust, and Lambert realized he may be in over his head. Soon, Aiden would wake and disentangle himself from Lambert without comment. Soon, this moment that seemed to stretch out like taffy would end. Until then, Lambert would take what he could get, and he closed his eyes to feign sleep.

*

It was late into the summer, one of the last truly hot days. They were lounging on the banks of a lake somewhere near Toussaint’s border. They were far from the road, far from anyone that might bother them, and Lambert had taken the opportunity to strip off his armor and roll up his pants to sit by the water and fish. Aiden had objected to the use of bombs to fish, so Lambert was doing it the slow way.

Aiden was shirtless, hair still dripping water from when he’d gone swimming and was lying back on the rocks. It was really trying Lambert’s minimal amount of self control not to let his thoughts wander. The last thing he needed was Aiden smelling lust coming off him, when really Aiden had never given any indication that he was interested in anything with Lambert.

Still, Lambert was only (mostly) human, and his eyes kept straying back to Aiden.

“I have a proposition for you,” said Aiden.

“Yeah?”

“Autumn’s coming,” said Aiden. “What were your plans for the winter?”

Lambert had until this point done a very good job of not thinking about the winter. “Don’t have any.”

“Well,” said Aiden. “Here’s my proposal - let’s keep pressing south. It’ll be milder weather and more work for both of us. Unless you have your heart set on returning to Kaer Morhen, we could stick together a while longer.”

Lambert snorted. “Don’t have my heart set on it. I only go back cause it’s the only place I can winter. If we keep pushing south, we’ll be in the Cats’ hunting territory.”

“As long as you’re traveling with me, no one’s going to bother you,” said Aiden.

Lambert didn’t answer right away, bobbing his makeshift fishing rod in the water and watching the ripples spread. It was a risk. Lambert would be depending on Aiden for protection, and that was if this wasn’t a trap to begin with.

But it had been months now, months of shared hunts and beds and keeping an eye out for each other - months of “I’ll come looking for you if you don’t come back,” and brewing potions for each other and sharing food and…really, just months worth of little ways Aiden could have fucked him over but hadn’t yet. He had come to rely on Aiden in a way that Lambert hadn’t experienced in decades, not since he lost Volthere.

Everything good ended one day, but that, in Lambert’s opinion, was all the more reason to sink your claws in and hold on to it for as long as possible.

“Fuck it, yeah, why not?” Lambert said. From his peripheral vision, he saw Aiden smile.

*

Toussaint was nice in the fall, warmer than Lambert was used to. The last of the leaves were falling off barren branches by the time they arrived in Beauclair. Lambert had never been this far South before, but clearly Aiden knew the place well, guiding them through the city like he knew where he was going.

“It used to be on my regular routes,” said Aiden, as they stopped by a seedy tavern. The man behind the bar was not pleased to see Aiden, though Aiden clearly didn’t take it personally. There was a letter waiting for him there, and Aiden looked overjoyed as the scowling barkeep handed it over.

“My brother, Gaeten, his routes and my routes used to intersect in Beauclair, back in the day,” Aiden explained once they were back on the busy street outside the tavern. He flipped the letter open, reading it while they walked aimlessly through town.

“Good news?” Lambert asked.

“Well, Gaeten’s alive. He’s warning me off a healer around these parts and a few towns that are hostile. Kiyan’s alive too, that’s nice - haven’t seen him in years. And well, the Caravan is still tearing itself apart with infighting, Guxart’s trying to hold it together, its not working, you know, the usual.”

“D’you not winter with them sometimes?” Lambert asked.

Aiden shook his head. “Treyse and some of his cronies wanted me to join in on the Tournament and - well, at the time I didn’t know what they were up to, only that I didn’t trust them one bit, so I told them to fuck off. It turned into a fight, I got stabbed, left the Caravan and haven’t been back since. I stopped using my usual routes, I didn’t want to cross paths with any of them. Which really is lucky for you, because that’s why I was in Velen in time to stop you becoming a chort’s chew toy.”

“Fuck off,” Lambert grumbled. “Who keeps regular hunting routes anyways? Don’t you get bored?”

Aiden shrugged. “It's not like they were identical every year. But it had its perks, you know? It used to be that I’d meet up with Gaeten on the Path at least once a year, and some years Kiyan too, though that was a lot rarer. We always knew we could leave letters here, if we couldn’t meet. Besides, you get to know the places and the people. It’s nice to know where you’ll be welcome, though admittedly that list has shrunk a lot over the years.”

“Huh,” Lambert said, who’d never walked the same route twice, and honestly tried not to. His plans, when he left Kaer Morhen each spring, were always just ‘get the fuck away from this place’, and then luck and boredom would dictate the rest. He wondered now if maybe he was missing out on something, and if the other Wolves made plans to meet up or send letters during the year, and he’d just never had anyone he was close enough to to do that with.

There was no one he would’ve wanted it with, anyways, except maybe if Volthere had lived long enough to walk the Path. That might have been different. Well. A lot of things might have been different, then.

“It's nice having places that feel familiar,” said Aiden, looking at the streets of Beauclair with something soft in his eyes. “It's not quite like coming home, but…it’s still something.”

*

There was work for them clearing out drowners from the river. It wasn’t a lot of money but it was enough to split a room. Aiden found them some cheap wine from a local vineyard, and they celebrated.

The wine sat heavy on Lambert’s tongue, sweet and rich. They alternated drinking the wine and sipping from Lambert’s stash of White Gull, and the combination meant that Lambert’s thoughts felt hazy and his body loose.

Aiden was sprawled on the bed next to him, one leg thrown over Lambert’s, and it was so distracting Lambert could barely form a thought. The wine probably wasn’t helping on that front.

“In another life, you should have been a distiller,” said Aiden, sipping at Lambert’s White Gull. He leaned his head on Lambert’s shoulder, making Lambert’s pulse spike. Aiden was, thankfully, too tipsy to take note.

“I’d be a fucking excellent distiller,” said Lambert, getting his thoughts back on track. “Or an alchemist! I’d be great at that too. Fucking wasted as a witcher, I am.”

“I don’t think you’re wasted as a witcher,” Aiden said.

“Yeah, well, it’s not the life I would’ve chosen.”

Aiden hummed noncommittally.

“What? You going to tell me that you like being a witcher?”

“I like monster hunting,” he said. Lambert looked at him dubiously. “I do! I like - I like the hunt, the rush of a fight. I like traveling - you know me, can’t ever sit still. Can you imagine me happy in one place, doing something mundane like - like - farming, or something? No. I like the work. It's the rest I hate.”

“Being treated like shit?” Lambert said.

“Yeah. And - and - all the shit they put us through in training, and all the in-fighting and the cruelty even now - it’s not necessary, it never was. Why do we have to torment kids and beat the shit of them, just to train them up? It was…it was like you said! Pointless suffering because we’re witchers and that’s what it means to be a witcher, for some reason. It doesn’t have to be, though. It just makes me angry.”

Hearing his own thoughts echoed back to him was almost dizzying. Lambert had spent decades feeling like he was losing his mind, because how could he be the only one that saw how fucked everything was? That it didn’t have to be? No one had ever agreed with him before.

“I’m so fucking glad I met you,” Lambert said.

“Oh gods, me too,” said Aiden, sincerity dripping from his voice. “Best thing that’s ever happened to me, I think.”

Lambert’s heart felt like it had crawled up into his throat and was now choking him to death. But Aiden was drunk and content and was humming again, seemingly unaware that that was the kindest thing anyone had ever said about Lambert.

“In another life, you’d be a bard,” said Lambert quietly, when he could finally get his throat working again.

“Maybe, in another life,” Aiden agreed with a laugh.

Lambert found that, for once, he was quite happy in this life, right here.

*

It was, overall, maybe the best winter Lambert had ever had. The weather turned cold, but the snow never rose above a few inches covering the ground, unlike winters in the Kaedwen mountains where sometimes the snow would be up to Lambert’s chest. There were fewer monsters, and their coin ran thin, and there were a lot of cold nights with small suppers of whatever they could scrape together.

There were no ghosts here, though. No risk of seeing a certain place or hearing a certain voice and being thrown back into memories of the Trials and of lost friends. There was no need for him to sit and be civil to people who tormented him as a kid, fuckers like Varin and his ilk who still looked down their noses at Lambert for having the audacity to survive.

Instead, there was just Aiden, whistling and trustworthy and cheerful, and the handful of humans that Aiden had managed to charm over the years. They all looked at Lambert warily, but Aiden always vouched for him and that seemed to be enough.

Even this far south, there was tension brewing, Lambert discovered. As the first days of spring started to roll in, so did whispers of something bad happening up north. It was nothing he mentioned to Aiden at first, and Aiden didn’t bring it up himself. Never anything more concrete than whispers of mobs and violence in Poviss, in Kovir, in Kaedwen. The creeping feeling of dread made him feel coiled tight, waiting to snap.

They were slowly making their way back North without discussing it, crossing back into Temeria as spring continued on. As soon as they walked into town, they were greeted with odd stares and unease, but really that was nothing new. Aiden went to stable the horse, leaving Lambert alone to talk to the innkeeper.

The innkeeper was an old man, gray-haired with sharp eyes that looked suspiciously at Lambert. He seemed to be in the middle of cleaning up the previous night’s wreckage, because there were still bottles and empty glasses and dirty plates littering the tables and the bar top. Lambert already had a feeling they weren’t going to be allowed to stay here.

“Thought they’d gotten rid of all your lot,” the innkeeper said, spitting on the ground.

Lambert froze. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The innkeeper didn’t answer, but there was a nasty look in his eye.

Something in Lambert snapped, and he grabbed the man by the collar, shoving him against the bar hard. “What the fuck does that mean, you limp-dicked son a whore?”

The man’s hand scrambled behind him, grabbing a bottle. Lambert barely had the time to raise an arm over his head before the bottle crashed down on him in a shower of broken glass. Lambert let him go, staggering back.

“Beast,” the man spat out, just as the door opened and Lambert heard Aiden come in.

Lambert lunged for the shitty little man, but Aiden grabbed him by the arm hard enough to hurt even through leather armor, and hauled him away and through the door.

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” Aiden said. He shoved Lambert through the door of the stables. Faster than Lambert would have thought possible, the horse was saddled and he was sitting behind Aiden as they booked it out of town. They didn’t gallop far, the two of them weighing on the horse, before Aiden halted them.

“What happened? I left you alone for five fucking minutes, and I find you bleeding,” said Aiden, dismounting and helping Lambert down with him. Lambert’s heart was pounding so hard he could hardly hear Aiden’s.

“Fuck - fuck,” said Lambert.

Aiden guided him to sit on a fallen log. “Just shallow cuts,” he said, pressing his finger to one of them on Lambert’s brow, making him hiss. “Think your arm guards caught most of it.”

“Forget about the fucking cuts - Aiden, he said - he said they’d gotten rid of ‘my lot’,” said Lambert. “He wouldn’t explain what he meant, the little rat.”

Aiden froze from where he was down on one knee in front of Lambert, his hand inches from Lambert’s face. “Your lot,” he repeated numbly.

Lambert nodded, swallowing hard. “I don’t know what that means,” he said, except of course he did.

“We’ve only been gone a season,” said Aiden. “Nothing could’ve happened - I mean, we were here, what, four months ago?”

Lambert didn’t answer.

Aiden ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath. “Alright. We’ll keep pushing on, someone’s bound to know something eventually. But I’m not letting you out of my sight again, not when we’re in town.”

*

It was a week of walking in subdued silence, until they spotted the lone witcher traveling their way. Aiden and Lambert exchanged a glance, and Aiden wordlessly tucked his medallion away. The witcher waved at them and jogged up to them - he was dark haired with a beard, and pox scars marring his face. There was a Griffin medallion around his neck.

As he stopped, his face fell in disappointment. “My apologies, I heard there were witchers passing through, and I dared hope I would find another Griffin. My name’s Coen, hail and well met,” he said. His gaze rested on Lambert’s medallion, before he looked up again. “Ah, my friend, I am sorry for your loss.”

A yawning pit was opening up inside Lambert. It was months in the making. He knew. He didn’t want to know.

Aiden’s hand came down on his shoulder, grounding him. “We’ve both been hunting down south for months, we’ve heard rumors but nothing concrete. What’s happened?”

Coen looked at both of them with wide eyes. “I am so sorry to have to tell you this,” he said to Lambert. “Kaer Morhen and Kaer Seren were sacked, early this winter. Kaer Seren was destroyed entirely, there were no survivors. As for Kaer Morhen, I am not sure how many survived, if any.”

There was a ringing in Lambert’s ears, a sense of being in a dream. A nightmare. He’d known, deep down, but he hadn’t been ready to hear it aloud - two whole schools, gone, wiped out. Every witcher he’d ever trained with, ever hunted with.

“Were other schools targeted?” said Aiden.

Coen shook his head. “Not to my knowledge, but I can’t know for certain.”

Aiden let out a breath but didn't let go of his grip on Lambert’s shoulder.

“How the fuck -” Lambert managed to speak. “- did a bunch of humans destroy two keeps full of witchers?”

“There were mages involved,” said Coen.

Now Lambert saw red. “Fucking - of course there was. Wasn’t enough for those sadistic fuckers to torture kids and experiment on us like fucking animals - now they’re going to just wipe us out like so much vermin.” He shrugged off Aiden’s hand and stalked off into the woods, feeling like he was burning with helpless fury.

Because that was the truth of it, wasn’t it? He’d never stopped being helpless, not really. What was the strength of a witcher worth when faced with mages and mobs? What could he actually do about any of it?

His memories were hazy after that, but Aiden found him with bloodied knuckles, a bent and notched steel sword and hacked up, broken trees in a clearing, out of breath and still - it wasn’t enough to get the rage out, it would never be enough -

“Lamb,” Aiden said, his voice so gentle that it sank into Lambert’s skin like a blade.

“Fuck off,” he said.

“You’ve been gone a long while. I came looking for you,” Aiden took a step closer, cautiously, like he was waiting for Lambert to break, and it only made Lambert angrier, like Aiden was poking at a gaping wound.

“I said fuck off, leave me alone -”

“Alright, sorry, I’ll -” Aiden took a step back, hands raised to placate him.

“Just go,” Lambert snarled. “What the fuck do you want from me? Go away, fuck off back to the Caravan. You can all celebrate that the mages finished what you started with the Tournament. Kaer Morhen is gone, the Wolves are gone - so leave me the fuck alone.”

Aiden flinched like Lambert had hit him, hurt blooming in his expression and something in Lambert was happy about it - good, he should hurt, he should hurt as much as Lambert was hurting - the rest of Lambert was screaming at him that he was acting like the scum of the earth.

“Fuck you, Lambert,” Aiden’s voice was quiet and hurt, and he turned on his heel and disappeared back from where he came.

Lambert stood in the empty clearing, his heart pounding in his ears, his rage seeping out of him until he was empty and shaking. Reality returned to him, and with it came regret, heavy and bitter and tinged with panic because what did he just do?

He picked up his damaged sword with unsteady hands and re-sheathed it. He made his way back to the road quickly, a growing feeling of fear building up in his chest until he was nauseous. He didn’t know what he would do if Aiden was already gone.

He arrived at the small camp that Aiden had set up, sitting by a fire burning low. Aiden looked up at him with something guarded in his expression. It reminded Lambert of their second meeting, and how distrustful and angry Aiden had looked. All those months of friendship and trust earned, and Lambert had just destroyed it in less than a minute.

“I’m sorry.” Apologizing had always felt a little too close to begging for Lambert’s comfort, but right now he would beg if that’s what it took. “I didn’t mean - I didn’t mean it. I shouldn’t have fucking said that, I’m - I’m sorry, Aiden, I - I ….”

Lambert had been alone his whole fucking life, but he’d always had a school, he had always had brothers in arms, and now - now he had nothing, nowhere to turn to, and he’d just cost himself the only real friend he had.

Aiden got to his feet and walked towards him. Lambert braced himself, unsure if Aiden meant to strike him or stab him or what, but he’d take it - he’d take anything, at this point, as long as Aiden didn’t leave.

Aiden reached for him and cupped his face in one hand, his touch so gentle it burned. “Hey, hey - it’s alright. It’s all forgiven.”

Aiden wiped away tears Lambert didn’t realize he was shedding until that moment. “I can’t do this shit alone,” he said, voice hoarse.

“You aren’t alone. I’m not going anywhere,” said Aiden, and then he pulled Lambert into a hug and held him tight. “I promise, I’m not letting you out of my sight. Gods, Lamb. I’m so sorry.”

Lambert sobbed and shook. Eventually, Aiden guided him down to his bedroll, but rather than let Lambert go, he pushed his own bedroll closer and pulled Lambert back into his arms.

When Lambert quieted, feeling lost and empty, Aiden was singing something soft, so low that Lambert wouldn’t have heard it if his head wasn’t pressed under Aiden’s chin, Aiden’s hand stroking his hair.

It was a lament for the dead, telling the tales of the women waiting as a regiment returned from war, and one by one, they spoke of the men who should have returned but hadn’t, the lovers, the sons, the brothers lost to a war hundreds of miles away.

Lambert slept and dreamt of blood soaked ground.

*

Lambert woke in the morning feeling almost hungover. He was still tangled up with Aiden, the Cat’s heartbeat thudding slow and steady beneath his ear.

He didn’t move for the longest time, until he felt Aiden shift beneath him, his breath and heartbeat changing as he woke.

“Do you need to go back to the Caravan?” Lambert asked quietly.

“I told you, I’m not going anywhere,” said Aiden.

“If they attacked Kaer Morhen, and Kaer Seren, the Cats might’ve been hit too,” Lambert said. It felt like he was cutting his own heart out to bring it up, but he had to. Maybe Lambert felt like he’d break to pieces if Aiden left him right now, but he cared about him too much not to give him the option. “I’m not gonna hold you to shit you said last night in the heat of the moment. If you need to go check, make sure Kiyan and Gaetan are alive, then - then go.”

“No. If it’s down between knowing they’re alright, or knowing you’re alright, there’s no contest. I’m not leaving. The Cats…if Gaeten or Kiyan are dead,” Aiden’s voice wavered before he pushed on: “Then they are dead. There’s nothing I can do about it. You are still alive.”

Lambert didn’t cry. He’d cried enough, he thought, though he knew Aiden would never hold it against him. No stoic witcher bullshit, and all that.

“I don’t want to go back there,” said Lambert.

Aiden just stroked a hand down his spine.

“Let that shithole burn for all I care,” said Lambert. Just don’t let my brothers burn along with it.

Except, where would he go if Kaer Morhen was gone? Would he walk the Path year round, year after year without pause? It would kill him just as surely as the mobs would.

He would always be beholden to Kaer Morhen in some way.

“I have to go back. I’ve got to know if there’s anyone left.”

“I’ll follow you,” Aiden promised, the words weighty and solemn. An oath taken with the full knowledge of how dangerous it would be. “Where you go, I go.”

Lambert did not have the words to thank him.

*

Lambert felt like he was trapped in a fog, as they made their way through Aedirn. They hunted a griffin and got paid half and Lambert didn’t even get angry because what was the point? It wasn’t like any of it felt real, anyways. This might as well be happening to someone else. The only times he felt like half a person again was when Aiden was touching him. They’d kept sharing a bedroll, and Lambert didn’t know what they were to each other anymore. Maybe he’d ask eventually, when it didn’t feel like they were being hunted constantly.

*

They were stopped in town for a rare moment, and Aiden slipped down to the bar to get them both food. Lambert didn’t like letting Aiden out of his line of sight these days, but he couldn’t follow Aiden everywhere, always. Ten minutes, and then he’d go check.

A lot could happen in ten minutes.

Aiden returned just about when Lambert was about to go looking for him, looking unsettled as he closed and locked their door.

“Alright?” Lambert asked, as he took his plate from Aiden and sat on the edge of their bed.

Aiden sat beside him, bumping his knee against Lambert’s. “I might’ve found work,” he said. “Well paying, enough to get us to Kaer Morhen without taking other contracts.”

Lambert set his plate aside to look at Aiden. There was only one type of contract that paid that well, the kind only Cats and Vipers took on. Aiden was tense and not looking at him.

“It’s a human contract,” Lambert said, not a question.

“If we keep stopping in towns to get work, to get supplies, we’re going to get ourselves killed,” said Aiden. “This way we could buy enough supplies to get through Kaedwen safely.”

“Would they pin it on us, if you took the job?” Lambert asked.

Aiden shook his head. “It’ll look like an accident. It’s not my first time.”

The admission was quiet and it was clear this was not something Aiden was proud of.

“I wasn’t sure how you’d take it,” Aiden said after a beat. “It’s not like we ever talked about it before. I wasn’t sure if you knew, or suspected, that I’d taken on that kind of work before. If you didn’t, well…forgive me, I suppose, for being the kind of man that can kill for money, and only lose a little sleep over it.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

Aiden didn’t look convinced. Lambert looked at the floorboards for a moment, a secret dredging itself up, something he’d thought he’d take to his grave. But it was Aiden, and if there was ever someone he’d tell, it would be him.

“I’ve taken a human contract before.”

“You what?”

“It was, uh, my second year on the Path,” said Lambert. “I got cocky, I misjudged how long it would take to make it back to Kaer Morhen, and I got snowed out. I had no coin, there was no work. And, well, this petty nobleman wanted another petty nobleman gone, and he was willing to pay good money for it, so I hid my medallion and passed myself off for a Viper, and I took the job.”

“Lamb.”

“It’s the sort of thing that could have gotten me in a shit ton of trouble with the Wolves, like ‘never allowed back into Kaer Morhen on pain of death’ kind of shit. Hell, they might’ve executed me for it. But I was about to starve or freeze to death anyways. I did what I had to do. Never did it again. It was too risky and I felt like shit afterwards.”

He hadn’t really figured out yet, back then, what kind of man he wanted to be. He’d justified it to himself by saying that if he didn’t take the contract, someone else would, and the fucker would be dead either way. Which might be true, but didn’t change the fact that it was Lambert who slit his throat, Lambert who scrubbed the blood off his hands until they were raw.

“So I wouldn’t worry about me judging you. Stones in glass houses and all that,” Lambert added.

“I’ve taken more than one lone contract, and not always because I was starving,” said Aiden. “Not that I take joy in it, or anything like that.”

“You could tell me you’ve taken a hundred of these kinds of jobs and I still wouldn’t care.”

“A dozen at most, all my years on the Path,” said Aiden, with all the weight of a confession.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” said Lambert. He was acutely aware that Aiden was only in this position because of him. If not for Lambert, Aiden would be miles South and twice as safe, and he wouldn’t have to kill for money.

“If I’m not back come morning,” Aiden said at last, picking up his dinner and his spoon. “Come looking for me?”

“Come morning,” Lambert agreed.

*

Aiden returned in the middle of the night, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Lambert was still pacing the room when he arrived, unable to sleep or meditate - he’d forgotten how paranoid he could be when he was alone, and that was not even counting the fear he felt on Aiden’s behalf.

Aiden stopped in the middle of the room, like he’d lost the strength to move further. His scent was muddled with adrenaline and disgust.

“Come here,” Lambert said, pulling Aiden’s arm closer so he could unbuckle his vambrace. Aiden’s armor was different from Lambert’s, lighter, and Lambert made quick work of it. In the dimness, he took it off of Aiden, piece by piece, unbuckling his swords and knives. He placed them on the bedside within easy reach.

Aiden let him do it, compliant and not fidgeting or humming or anything, just still except for when Lambert moved him.

“Come to bed, kitty,” Lambert said. He nudged him towards the bed, and once underneath the covers, he pulled Aiden close. Aiden was taller than Lambert but he curled in on himself so that his head was tucked against Lambert’s chest, and Lambert held him tight. Lambert wished they had a bath, so that Aiden could scrub that feeling of disgust off his skin, that Lambert was unfortunately familiar with.

Aiden was still and tense and his scent turned melancholy and it made Lambert burn because Aiden should never have had to do this.

He wanted to make it better, but there were no words he could say that wouldn’t sound trite. And Lambert remembered when the roles were reversed, and Aiden sang to him, and so, dredging up the only song Lambert really remembered, he started to hum.

It was tentative and not quite on tune, but he was trying.

Aiden started shaking in Lambert’s arms and for a moment, Lambert panicked, before he realized that Aiden was laughing.

“Are you - are you signing Peggy and the Sailors?” Aiden pressed his forehead against Lambert’s collarbone and laughed again. Lambert could feel it through his shirt. “Why?”

Lambert knew that if witchers could blush he’d be turning bright red. “I don’t know any other songs.”

Aiden let out another laugh.

“You sang for me last time!” Lambert objected.

“Only you would sing Peggy and the fucking Sailors as a lullabye,” said Aiden, sounding bewildered and fond, as he clutched onto Lambert’s shirt.

And look, okay, maybe Peggy and the Sailors was a graphically bawdy song about a peg-legged prostitute fucking her way through a whole crew of sailors, so graphic in fact that you’d get kicked out of most taverns for signing it.

“I’m never singing for you again, asshole,” Lambert grumbled.

“Ah, come on,” said Aiden. So Lambert, begrudgingly, started humming again.

Aiden fell asleep in the hour before dawn, so really, Lambert thought it could be argued that Peggy and the Sailors worked just fucking fine as a lullabye in a pinch.

*

They traveled through Kaedwen and kept as far from settlements as possible. It was a rainy, muddy spring turning into a rainy muddy summer. They ate what they could forage or hunt and really, it was miserable. They made fires when they dared to, shared bedrolls every night, and made as little noise as possible as they moved steadily up north.

The Killer was unpleasant as always, and as they approached the keep, something heavy seemed to weigh down Lambert’s limbs. He didn’t know what he’d find up there, didn’t know what he'd do if all he found were corpses.

It was midmorning by the time the keep came into view. The gates were shattered and crumbling and Lambert stopped by the door, unable to keep going forward.

Kaer Morhen had been a place he’d hated. It had been the only refuge he’d ever known. It was always, though, a place that seemed indestructible. And here it lay in ruins.

Aiden stood next to him, pressing his shoulder into Lambert’s, and stared at the walls.

And then came the sound of rubble shifting and footsteps, someone running towards them.

Appearing in the open gate was Eskel. He skidded to a halt and disappointment flashed through his eyes for a moment before he hid it, when he saw that it was Lambert at the door.

It hurt, more than Lambert expected it to, that even now no one was happy to see him home safe. It was like a blade stabbed straight into his chest.

“You’re alive,” Eskel said and he reached out to clasp Lambert by the arm, and Lambert let him. To his surprise, he was pulled into a hug. “Gods, it's good to see you.”

“Didn’t seem like it a minute ago,” Lambert muttered.

Eskel pulled away, looking embarrassed. “Oh - Lambert, I - “

“This is Aiden,” Lambert cut him off, not interested in hearing whatever excuse Eskel would cobble together. “He’s a Cat, he’s with me, and if any of you give him trouble, I’m leaving.”

Eskel looked at Aiden in confusion and then extended a hand. “Name’s Eskel.”

Aiden shook his hand, still looking wary.

“Who else is here?” Lambert asked.

“Just me and Vesemir,” Eskel said quietly. “We think Geralt and Remus are alive. They weren’t here during the attack, but we’ve yet to hear from either of them.”

“That’s it?” Lambert said. Eskel nodded. Five Wolves left. It was better than none. It was better than an empty keep with only carrion and crows, which was what Lambert had been bracing himself for this entire time, but…five Wolves left.

“Come inside,” said Eskel.

The courtyard was a wreckage, and the main hall was empty and echoing, a lot of shattered tables and broken chairs pushed to one side. The one remaining table was nearest the fireplace, where a raging fire crackled.

“The entire east wing is destroyed, we haven’t been able to venture down there, it’s too unstable,” said Eskel. “Some of our rooms are intact, anything up to the third floor, above that there’s holes in the walls and parts of the staircases missing. The first floor alchemy labs are safe. There’s enough food stored to keep us going for probably at least a year. It was stocked for a full keep and it was early winter when they struck.”

They heard footsteps, and from the kitchen emerged Vesemir. He looked decades older than when Lambert last saw him, though it wasn’t more than a couple of years ago. Lambert expected for another look of vague disappointment that it was Lambert standing there and not someone better liked. But Vesemir’s expression didn’t change. His eyes, empty and haunted, seemed to pass over Lambert without seeing him.

Vesemir looked at Aiden and Lambert braced for a fight, but Vesemir still didn’t react.

He too, clasped Lambert’s arm and pulled him into an embrace, which made his hackles raise because - well, Vesemir was never the worse of their trainers but he and Lambert had never gotten on, either.

“Glad you’re home,” Vesemir said quietly.

Lambert watched him walk back out of the main hall with a feeling of bewilderment.

“He’s the only one who survived the sacking,” said Eskel, quietly enough that even with witcher hearing, Vesemir wouldn’t hear from the other room. “He’s been here all alone since…fuck, I’ve only been here a month. He buried them all himself. He’s not…he's not doing well.”

Lambert tried to imagine what Vesemir lived through and found that he couldn’t even form the thought. His mind shrunk away from the horror of it.

Lambert and Aiden found a room to dump their bags, and crashed to sleep.

*

In the morning, they started the slow, tedious work of keeping the keep from collapsing entirely. And Lambert learned more - how even the kids who hadn’t passed their trials yet were slaughtered, even though some of the trainers had tried to smuggle them out, how the mages collapsed the tunnels on them. He learned that the mages' chambers had been burned and all the secrets to the mutagens lost. There would never be another Wolf witcher created in these halls, and Lambert was torn between grief that this was the end of Witchers, the end of him and everyone he cared about, and relief that this was the end of witchers, the end of strapping boys down to tables and torturing them.

He couldn’t reconcile it, the grief and the relief, and it was heavy to carry them both.

*

Eskel was rapidly becoming unbearable to be around. He was distracted and short tempered, and anything that went wrong was somehow Lambert’s fault. Though he never said anything outright, it was clear he didn’t trust Aiden. He was almost unrecognizable from the witcher he used to be - Lambert had never been close to him, but Eskel had always been good-natured and easy to get along with when they interacted.

Aiden was also becoming more and more tense, as the days wore on, and they were still cooped up in the keep. He was unusually quiet. In fact, he had been quiet since they’d crossed the Kaedwen border. He worked himself to exhaustion but it still didn’t seem to quell the restlessness fully.

Vesemir, for his part, might as well have been a ghost for how little they saw of him.

So really, Lambert thought he did a really good job of not biting anyone’s head off for four whole days in these conditions.

“You need to go hunt or something,” Lambert said over breakfast, watching Aiden twirl his knife around his fingers compulsively, his leg shaking up and down.

“What?” Aiden stopped fidgeting with his knife, his fingers stilling for a moment.

“You’re getting stir crazy and you’re going to drive me insane. Go fucking hunt a deer or something,” said Lambert. “I’ll come looking, and all that shit.”

“By sundown,” said Aiden, sheathing his knife again.

Lambert nodded his agreement and turned back to his plate. Aiden got up from the table and headed out from the hall. Eskel, sitting by the hearth, watched Aiden leave with unconcealed suspicion.

“What the fuck’s your problem anyways?” Lambert asked.

Eskel snorted but didn’t answer.

“You’ve been a right fucking dick this whole time, and I don’t know what your problem with Aiden is, but get over it.”

“Get over it? Lambert, you brought a random stranger, a Cat, into the wreckage of our home with no explanation, nothing. What is he even doing here? Am I just supposed to take it on faith that he has good intentions? Even if he does, he’s - he’s not a Wolf, he doesn’t belong here, not - not right now. Not when we just lost…” Eskel cut himself off and sighed. “What is he doing here?”

“He’s here because I asked him to be,” said Lambert.

“He’s a Cat.”

“So fucking what? Why would that even matter, when we’re all about to be wiped out? It’s petty bullshit, that’s all it is.”

Eskel got to his feet. Lambert wasn’t about to be loomed over and stood as well. “Of course it’s petty bullshit to you. You’re not the one who had to deal with the fallout of the Tournament. You weren’t the one who had to piece Geralt back together after what he was forced to do. It matters that he’s a Cat, because I don’t trust him and you haven’t given me any good reason why I should!”

“Because he’s my friend,” said Lambert. The word felt woefully inadequate for what Aiden had become to him. “I wouldn’t have brought him if he was a danger to the School.”

“You don’t give a shit about the School,” Eskel said.”You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with us.”

There was a moment of deafening silence. Ah, so there it was.

“You know what? Fuck you,” said Lambert. “You’re right, I don’t give a shit about this place. The fuck do you want from me? You want me to be grateful about what they put us through? I got to watch the entire rest of my year die in the Trials. I made it back every fucking winter knowing full well no one gave a shit if I died on the Path that year. Hell, Varin called me a cockroach - hard to kill and always crawling back where I was least wanted.”

“Varin was a piece of work, that doesn’t mean the rest of us -”

“Even you were disappointed when you saw me at the gates.”

“That’s not - God, Lambert, you’re impossible. Why come back at all, then?”

“Because I have nowhere else to go, and the School made sure of that when it turned me into this.”

Lambert stalked out of the room before he did something rash. He was happy Aiden wasn’t there to witness that mess. He dug up one of their old training dummies from the armory and absolutely trashed it in the courtyard. Anything to work off the leftover rage.

He found himself on the ramparts later on, overlooking the valley. From this vantage point, he could see a part of the Killer, and the swath of forest Aiden had gone hunting in.

Eskel appeared by his side, leaning his elbows on the stone wall. Lambert tensed. For a long moment, they stood in silence.

“I thought you were Geralt,” said Eskel at last. “When I heard you arrive, I thought you might be him. I swear I wasn’t unhappy to see you, it’s just…I don’t know if he’s alive and I can hardly think about anything else.”

Lambert shot him a look, and saw the toll all of this had taken on Eskel. Kind, reliable, good-natured Eskel, pushed to the end of his tether by the magnitude of their loss, and his fear for Geralt. “If I was expecting Aiden to appear and I saw you instead, I’d be disappointed too.”

Eskel glanced at him curiously. “Is that what he means to you?”

Lambert, who had never figured out if Eskel and Geralt were friends or lovers, shrugged.

“You know, if you had just said that at the start, we might have avoided all this,” Eskel said, turning back to watch the valley. Specifically, his eyes were drawn to the Killer, Lambert could tell, watching for signs of Geralt coming home.

“You have no reason to think Geralt’s dead,” said Lambert.

“I know. He was supposed to winter in Lyria. He’s probably fine. It’s just that Geralt has always attracted attention. That’s not a good thing these days. And Kaedwen was a nightmare to get through, I had a few close calls on the way up.”

Lambert hummed in agreement.

“You know, I think we all have…complicated feelings about this place,” said Eskel.

“Even you?” Lambert said with genuine curiosity. He’d never gotten the sense that the others had much resentment for Kaer Morhen. Not to the degree he did, at least.

Eskel smiled wryly. “I try not to dwell on it. It’s not like we have anywhere else to go, do we?”

Lambert let out a long sigh. “No, I guess not.”

*

Aiden returned around dinner time, a deer slung over his shoulders. Lambert found him in the courtyard just as he was setting it down to start cleaning it. Aiden was splattered in more blood than he really should be - unless, of course, he’d been hunting with a knife and slit the deer’s throat rather than do what any reasonable hunter would and just use a crossbow.

He was singing quietly to himself as he began to skin the deer. It loosened the knot of worry in Lambert’s chest to hear Aiden sing again.

Lambert took a moment to just look at him. His dark hair was tied up and out of his face, and there was blood streaked across his cheek. His hands made sure, deft swipes with his knife. His shoulders seemed relaxed for the first time in weeks.

Lambert loved him.

It was a realization that had been creeping up on him for a while now, perhaps since that day by the lake, where they’d decided to travel together. Definitely since they had started sharing a bed roll every night.

Lambert loved him, and he was not sure it was enough to save either of them, with the era of witchers drawing to a close. This was the thing Lambert had never even dared to dream of: having someone like this to love, who might even love him in turn. It was a cruel joke that it came now, when they were probably going to die.

“Come help me with this, Lamb,” said Aiden, as though he sensed Lambert’s gaze on him. Or perhaps he had become accustomed to Lambert’s heartbeat the same way Lambert had to Aiden’s, and was always aware of where Lambert was somewhere in the back of his mind.

Lambert went to help him with the carcass.

*

Two days later, it was Lambert who saw Geralt arrive at Kaer Morhen. Lambert had just finished seeing to the horses and was about to head back inside. The sound of footsteps and hoofbeats alerted him that someone was coming.

Geralt entered the shattered gates, tugging Roach along behind him. His gaze swept over the devastation of the courtyard without seeming to notice Lambert’s existence.

“Glad to see you’re not dead,” said Lambert.

Geralt locked eyes with Lambert and rushed forward, dropping Roach’s reins. “Have you heard from Eskel?” he asked urgently.

Instead of answering, Lambert hollered towards the keep: “Eskel! Geralt’s home.”

“He’s here? He’s alive?” Geralt asked.

The answer came in the form of the keep’s door being thrown open and Eskel barrelling out of it.

“Geralt!”

Eskel didn’t hug Geralt so much as collide with him, hard enough to make Geralt step back, before he wrapped his arms round Eskel just as tightly.

Lambert slipped back into the keep to let the two have their privacy.

*

Geralt greeted Lambert later with few words, but genuine warmth, which surprised him. Even more surprising, Geralt managed to get Vesemir to sit with them to eat. He even managed to get a few words out of him.

“So why are you here, exactly?” Geralt asked Aiden as they finished supper. It was blunt - everything Geralt said was blunt - but he didn’t seem to be looking for a fight.

“I’m Lambert’s friend, he asked me to come, so I came,” said Aiden simply.

“And how does a Cat end up friends with a Wolf?”

“He saved my life, a few years back,” said Lambert.

“And then he insulted me and cursed me out for it,” Aiden added, which made Eskel snort.

“You were acting suspicious,” Lambert said.

Aiden laughed. “Oh, sure, I was being nice to you, that was very suspicious of me,” he said. He turned back to Geralt, his expression sobering. “Jokes aside, I don’t want to sell Lambert short. Yeah, I patched him up after a bad hunt, we fought and I didn’t think we’d ever cross paths again. We only met again last year. A town turned on me after a bad hunt, I got captured. I really thought I was done for. So imagine my surprise when Lambert arrives in the middle of the night with an escape plan, like a knight out of a song.

“I was sure that when he realized it was a Cat they’d got strung up, he’d leave me there and call it well deserved revenge. But he still broke me out. I was pretty badly injured, I slowed him down and used up a lot of his potions for a few days. We kept traveling together after that. It seemed safer with all the trouble brewing. I’ve been damn lucky to have Lambert at my back this whole time.”

There was no physical way for a witcher to blush but somehow Lambert was managing it and his ears were burning.

Lambert refused to look at anyone as he continued to eat. He wasn’t sure he'd ever had someone brag about him before. Because that was what it was - there was unmistakable pride and esteem in Aiden’s voice, like he really did think of him as a knight in a song.

“He’s a good man, a good witcher,” said Aiden casually, continuing to torment Lambert with his sincerity. And then, because he wanted to make Lambert choke, he turned to Vesemir and added: “He really is a credit to your School.”

Vesemir took a moment to answer before he hummed in agreement.

Lambert really did choke at that. Aiden snorted and patted him on the back. The conversation pulled itself away from Lambert, blessedly, but Lambert was left reeling. Aiden left his hand on his back for far too long, the touch lingering.

*

They all drank that night. Lambert somehow ended up sitting in the cold under the light of the stars, on a pile of rubble in the courtyard. He’d only come out for air, but he’d not made it back inside.

Aiden came out to join him, bringing a bottle of wine with him.

“The one we had in Toussaint was better,” Lambert said, taking a sip, and passing it to Aiden.

Aiden took a swig, lips touching the glass where Lambert’s had been just minutes ago.

“Oh, definitely,” said Aiden. He eyed Lambert critically. “How are you holding up? Your thoughts seem heavy tonight.”

Lambert swallowed hard and looked away. “I just…I don’t know where we go from here. The keep is destroyed, the humans want us dead. We couldn’t withstand another attack. Even if they don’t mob us again, they’ll pick us off one by one on the Path. I think - I think this is the death knell, Aiden, for us.

And you know the worst thing? Part of me is glad that we’re never going to make another Wolf witcher again. No other kid is going to go through what I went through. No more seven dead kids for every 3 that make it. Fuck. I don’t know what that makes me.”

“I think,” said Aiden. “That makes you someone who doesn’t like killing and hurting kids.”

Lambert was shaking, he knew he was shaking but he couldn’t stop it. He clasped his hands together to hide it. “What else is there for us, out there? Except getting killed off one by one? What hope of - of fucking anything, at this point, is there, if everyone wants us dead? I was already jumping at shadows and looking over my shoulder all the fucking time - I can’t keep doing that forever. Someone’s gonna get the jump on us eventually. I don’t even know how we’re gonna get out of Kaedwen alive.”

Aiden pulled his shaking hands apart and held one of them, threading their fingers together. He gripped Lambert’s hand hard. “Listen to me,” he said. “Yeah, life sucks and the world is going to keep doing its level best to kill us. But it’s been doing that our whole lives. We’re here in spite of a lot of things - the Trials, the Tournament, the sacking, every monster that didn’t eat us, every villager that didn’t kill us - we survived. We are still here, Lambert, and so there is still hope. And if you can’t see it right now, for your grief then - then let me see it for you. Believe me when I say that there is something out there for us, there are good things left, and I just need you to trust me on that.”

Lambert was choking with his grief. He couldn’t bring himself to believe it. He searched his mind for a future he could picture, and couldn’t see farther than the next few months. He couldn’t imagine anything other than getting killed back on the Path, of losing the few Wolves he had left, of losing Aiden -

Everything Lambert had ever loved and lost had claw marks in it.

“You’re lying to me,” said Lambert, voice hoarse. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“No, never that,” said Aiden, and the hand that wasn’t holding his reached up to cup the back of Lambert’s neck. “Trust me, Wolf. Trust me. Let me have enough faith for the both of us. Just for a little while, until you find yours again.”

Lambert was lost and adrift, but Aiden was a lifeline thrown out at sea. If he let go of Aiden, he would be lost for good. “I trust you.” he opened his eyes. “I…Aiden, fuck.” And then he leaned forward and kissed Aiden, hands reaching up to grip his shirt, forceful and desperate and rushed and -

Aiden leaned back, pupils blown. “Lambert.”

“Take me to bed,” Lambert demanded, pleaded, like he’d wanted to since that first night they shared a bed all those months ago.

He didn’t doubt that Aiden felt the same, not really. What else would have driven Aiden to come to Kaer Morhen with him? Aiden took a human contract, had killed for him. He held him, took care of him, forgave him, praised him to the others, shared his bed, his food, his entire fucking life for a year -

“Are you sure?” Aiden said.

Lambert knew what this must look like - a grief ridden man jumping on the first source of comfort he could find but it wasn’t that. Or at least, it wasn’t just that.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” said Lambert. “You know that I - you know I love you, right?”

Aiden looked dumbfounded. “Yeah, I mean - I hoped. You know I love you too?”

“Yeah,” Lambert said.

It was strange to be so sure of it. Lambert couldn’t remember ever being so dead fucking certain that someone cared about him. It was comforting. It was so overwhelming as to be almost painful.

Aiden kissed him again, and Lambert surrendered to it. He was weary and hurting, and Aiden could take the lead for them both tonight. He knew he was in good hands.

*

In the afterglow, lying with Aiden’s head on his chest, Lambert heard something he’d heard only once before - a deep, quiet rumbling that Lambert could feel under the hand he had pressed to Aiden’s ribs. Aiden was purring.

It made him emotional all over again, that show of trust and vulnerability. Lambert still wasn’t able to picture any future at all for them, but he trusted Aiden. He could try for his sake.

And if Aiden was wrong, if they did face their end soon, then Lambert was going to hold onto Aiden with everything he had until it was all ripped away.

“We can track down the Caravan come spring,” said Lambert

The purring stopped. “It’d be dangerous for you. The Cats won’t welcome you with open arms,” Aiden warned him.

“You came here with me, I’ll go there with you,” said Lambert. “Where you go, I go, and all that.”

Aiden let out a long breath. “Where you go, I go,” he repeated.

It was almost like wedding vows.

Lambert pressed a kiss to Aiden’s head and they both drifted off eventually.

*

In the spring they returned to the Path, and the strange fog of hopelessness still clung to Lambert. It was unfamiliar - while suspicion had always come easily to him, so had the stubborn refusal to roll over and die, which was its own sort of hope, Lambert had come to realize. He kept going because he trusted that Aiden was right, maybe, and one day he too would see it. It was only blind faith that carried him forward these days.

They were somewhere in Aedirn, stopping to get the horse reshoed. There was no work in town and they'd spent the last of their coin on the horse. Lambert was bristling under the stares and whispers of suspicious villagers.

He was standing outside the farrier’s building with his arms crossed, letting Aiden take care of negotiating the price without him. He glared at anyone that looked his way, daring someone to try something today.

“Master Witcher,” came a soft, hesitant voice.

Lambert looked over at the young woman, barely more than a girl, who was standing a ways away, a baby perched on her hip. She smelled like nerves as she approached, but she was straight-backed and met his gaze evenly.

“I’ve come to ask for help. There’s something in the woods, sir, something killing off the people on the outskirts of the village. The lord doesn’t care, he won’t post a contract for it. My husband, he…he disappeared a few weeks ago. He went hunting and didn’t come back. The lord said he’d probably run off on me, abandoned us but - but I swear, he hasn’t, he wouldn’t,” she said, angry tears filling her eyes. “There’s something in the woods - it took Piotr’s son too, and Hansel’s sister. We can hear it at night sometimes, something moving through the forest…I don’t have a lot of coin, but you can take what little I have. And I have a ring, too - it’s real gold.” She pulled what was clearly a wedding ring off her finger, holding it out to Lambert with shaking hands.

Lambert wasn’t Geralt - he didn’t work for free. But he was also not the type of asshole who'd take a widow’s wedding ring.

There was a part of Lambert, where a nasty festering hurt remained, that wanted to take it from her anyways. He wanted, in fact, to turn her down. If humans wanted a world without witchers, fine. They could live without witchers’ labor too, keeping them safe in their homes. How dare they try to wipe them out and then come crawling back asking for help afterwards?

He wanted to yell, to tell her to fuck off, he wanted to scare her…

But he was not that kind of man. He could be, but he wasn’t.

“Uh - okay, look,” said Lambert, wishing Aiden would hurry up and come out. “Do you have a barn or a stable or something?”

She looked confused. “Y-yes?”

“Great. Let me and my friend sleep there tonight, and I don’t know, how much coin do you have? Not in total, how much can you actually spare to pay us?” Lambert asked.

“Eighteen crowns,” she said. She didn’t look away, though he could see she was embarrassed.

“Eighteen crowns and a place to stay, and we’ll take care of whatever the hell’s lurking in the woods,” said Lambert.

She nodded and then, inexplicably, she stuck her hand out. It took Lambert a second to realize she wanted to shake his hand. She didn’t flinch from his touch.

*

She was nervous the entire time they were walking back towards her house and the scent grated on Lambert’s nerves, though he couldn’t really blame her. Even if they weren’t witchers, she was a young woman alone with two men nearly twice her weight who were armed to the teeth.

Aiden spoke, thank god. He asked for more information on the disappearances, though she knew very little. She’d been the only one brave enough to go ask for help from a witcher when the nobility had failed to act. The neighbors had helped her pool the money, but had left her to go hire them on her own.

They stayed in her barn. It was a dryer and softer place to sleep than the forest floor, so really that was enough for Lambert. Aiden didn’t comment on the fact that Lambert had essentially signed them up for charity work, but he did give him a very soft look about it that Lambert ignored.

As evening drew on, Lambert was surprised to hear footsteps approaching and a soft knock on the door of the barn.

“Master Witchers? I’ve brought supper,” their host said. She pushed the door open with one foot, her baby in a sling across her back as she carried a tray in with three bowls.

To Lambert’s shock, she sat down in the hay across from them, setting the tray on the ground. There was still something cautious in her movements, as she pulled her own bowl towards herself.

“Thank you, uh, ma’am,” said Aiden, exchanging a bewildered look with Lambert.

It was weird that she was feeding them, even stranger that she was breaking bread with them in the barn. Lambert honestly hadn’t expected to see her again until they were done with the job. He could hardly blame a woman alone for not inviting them into her house.

“Have you traveled very far, as witchers?” she asked meekly.

Lambert let Aiden take on the bulk of the conversation, as she asked tentative questions about their work. It was all putting Lambert on edge - the common courtesy, the respectful questions, the lack of disgust as she met their gaze.

He could tell Aiden was taken off guard by it too, but he laid the charm on thick and managed to pull a laugh out of her, and her name - Aneta - by the time their meal was over.

Aiden thanked her again before she left.

She gave him a smile like he’d said something odd. “Least I could do, if you’re taking this job - I know I’m not paying you what you’re worth. I’m really grateful, you know. No else would help us.” With that, she ducked out of the barn.

*

They went into the woods at dawn the next day, trying to find tracks or signs of disturbances. When the fog started to creep in through the trees, though, it became glaringly obvious what the problem was.

Lambert blasted Aard at the first sign of movement, as the first of the foglets appeared. The fight was quick and vicious, and it took only a few seconds for the fog to get so thick he couldn’t keep track of Aiden anymore.

An explosion knocked Lambert back a step, silver and metal shrapnel cutting through his armor and face, as Aiden aimed a moon dust bomb at the foglet. The distraction was enough for the dying, enraged foglet to sink its teeth into the juncture of Lambert’s shoulder and neck, just as Lambert gutted him.

Lambert swore, shoving the corpse away, bringing up Quen in time to dodge another attack. He was losing too much blood, he knew. He took a Swallow from his pocket, uncorked it with his teeth and knocked it back before he swung again at the encroaching monsters.

The fight was over quick enough after that, and Aiden was suddenly at his side, examining his shoulder.

“Sorry, I didn’t see how close you were when I tossed the bomb,” said Aiden. His eyes were still black from the potions, his skin unnaturally pale.

“S’fine, I’ll sleep it off,” said Lambert, pressing a hand against his neck to try and stem the bleeding until the potions took effect. Aiden handed him a vial of Kiss to drink.

Lambert tried to walk on his own but didn’t make it far before Aiden ducked under his arm and took on some of his weight. The Kiss had slowed the bleeding, but Lambert was still dizzy from the blood loss.

They arrived back at Aneta’s house. Lambert dimly hoped they could sneak into the barn without being seen, but that hope was quickly dashed. Aneta rushed out of the house, eager to greet them, and then froze, eyes wide and rapidly paling. The fear in her scent was so strong, Lambert could smell it even from across the yard.

Wasn’t this always how things played out? People were happy enough to send witchers to hunt their beasts, but god forbid they help if they got injured in the process.

“Aneta, please listen,” said Aiden, voice even and gentle. “I know we look frightening - I promise, we mean you no harm. It’s just the potions we took, alright?”

Aneta locked eyes with Aiden, still scared, but not running yet.

“It’s just the potions,” Aiden repeated firmly. “Lambert is hurt, you can see that he’s bleeding. Just let him sleep it off in the barn, you won’t even know we’re there. Please, Aneta.”

Aneta glanced at Lambert, who was still clutching his wound shut. “You are not possessed?” she asked.

“No, we just took some potions so we could fight better. In a few hours, we’ll look the same as we did yesterday,” said Aiden. Lambert was glad, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Aiden was there to talk them out of this mess. Lambert doubted he would succeed, but maybe at least he could talk her down from running to town and gathering up a mob.

“You may stay in the barn,” said Aneta, after a beat. She did not move an inch, still looking wary.

Lambert was sure he’d misheard, but Aiden thanked her and started hauling Lambert back to the barn.

Lambert sat in the hay pile heavily, letting Aiden unbuckle and pull off his armor carefully.

“It’s gonna scar,” said Aiden. “Didn’t hit anything important, at least.”

“Yeah, my fucking neck’s not important at all,” Lambert snarked back.

Aiden snorted. “Can’t be that important, you’re not dead and you're still talking. You’ll be fine.”

Lambert just grunted in reply, because Aiden was right. He’d be fine once the Swallow and Kiss had time to do their job. In the meantime, he was in a pretty shitty mood.

There was a soft knock at the door, before it was opened just wide enough for a basin of water to be shoved through, clean cloths folded on the edge of it. A small pouch was tossed beside it.

“For your friend,” said Aneta, before the door shut again and Lambert heard her footsteps hurry back towards the house.

Aiden went to retrieve it. “At least I can wash the worst of the blood off you.” He opened the pouched and huffed out a laugh. “She brought you willow bark.”

Willow bark would do fuck all for an injury like this, and a witcher’s metabolism would burn it off so quickly it’d be useless regardless. Aneta didn’t know that though. It was probably the only thing she had on hand for pain.

Lambert was too tired to make sense of it, and he dozed off while Aiden finished patching him up.

*

Lambert woke the next morning to an empty barn. The sound of whistling let him know that Aiden was nearby and safe. The wound of his shoulder had sealed shut enough for travel, so he pushed himself to his feet and dragged himself out of the barn.

Aiden was, inexplicably, on Aneta’s roof, adding new thatching while he whistled.

“Why are you fixing her roof?” Lambert asked, squinting up at him.

“It was leaking. You were sleeping too long, I got bored.”

“You’re soft, you know that?”

“Says the witcher who took a contract for foglets for eighteen crowns,” said Aiden.

“Didn’t know it was foglets when I took it.”

“That might actually be worse - what if it had been a wyvern? A leshen? For eighteen crowns?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m an idiot and a sucker, I know.”

Aiden finished what he was doing and leapt off the roof, as agile as a real cat. “Eh, I wouldn’t say that. I’d call you kind.”

Lambert made a noise that wasn’t words because he still didn’t know what he was supposed to do when Aiden said shit like that, all sincere. Aiden just grinned, enjoying his floundering.

Aneta came out with a fussing baby on her hip. “Thank you again for the roof,” she said with genuine relief. She caught sight of Lambert and stopped. “You look…better.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” said Lambert, almost defensive.

Aneta was still wary but the smile she gave him was sincere. “I’m glad. I wish I could pay you properly, for what you did. Eighteen crowns seems a pittance when compared to the state you came back in last night.”

“It looked worse than it was,” said Aiden.

“Still,” she said. “It was good of you to help. If your work ever takes you this way again, drop by and say hello. You’ll always be welcome.”

There was no real fear in her scent, nothing in her heartbeat to show that she was lying.

He thought back to the packet of willow bark, offered up even though she was scared.

He thought maybe he’d forgotten that people could be decent. Maybe he’d forgotten that it wasn’t all pitchforks and stones and innkeepers smashing bottles overhead. It wasn’t all mages collapsing tunnels on escaping children, not entire villages complicit and complacent in torture.

Sometimes, it was just this. Just common decency, offered in spite of fear.

“Thanks. For the willow bark,” he said, knowing his voice sounded off. Like he was thanking her for more than that.

For a second, he thought he could see the future Aiden saw. He couldn’t hold onto it quite yet, but - for a moment, he saw it too.

Aiden whistled to draw his attention where he’d already started up the road, and Lambert nodded to Aneta, before turning and following his Cat onto the Path once more.