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He can’t compliment Lambert directly. It’s something he realizes early on. He can’t just tell Lambert that he’s the best swordsmen Aiden has ever met, that he’s probably more intelligent than all the kingdoms leading scholars combined, that the cut of his jaw and the tilt of his smile makes Aiden think words like stunning and breathtaking.
If he says the words, Lambert clams up. Changes the subject. ( Throws a punch, on one memorable occasion; though they’d both been properly sloshed when it happened. )
They’ve been taking jobs together, off and on, for about two years when he realizes he loves the insufferable ass. That thought is immediately followed by, I can’t tell him.
Not because he doesn’t want to. Not because he’s afraid. Not because he’s unsure. Not even because he’s unsure of Lambert . He knows his wolf well enough to understand that if Lambert did not want to be around Aiden, he wouldn’t make himself so easily found.
He can’t tell Lambert that he loves him, because he knows in his bones that Lambert will not believe the words.
Which leaves Aiden in a rather frustrating spot.
He reverts to something he’s quite well versed in: gathering information.
# # #
Outwardly, he changes nothing. Any difference in his behavior will make Lambert suspicious and if he gets suspicious he’ll get irritable, which will eventually boil over into pissed off, which won’t be beneficial for either of them. But he pays more attention and he notices little nothings that pile up until Aiden can’t believe he hadn’t noticed them before.
Lambert sharpens his own swords every night, just as Aiden does. They sit, side by side, each night around the fire and maintain their blades. Lambert has always been quiet during this time, intent on his task and not inclined toward conversation; and again, Aiden is much the same. Until he starts on his silver blade. He loathes it. The silver blades take more care, cleaner strokes with a whetstone, extra time and patience that Aiden doesn’t have . He has a tendency to huff and curse his way through it and berate himself later for his own piss-poor job.
He’s finished his steel for the night, slipped it back into its sheath and he rushes through his silver blade. It irritates him to leave such shoddy work on his own blade but he just does not have it in him to spend the time tonight. He slams it back in its sheath, with a barely passable edge and no polishing, and dumps both swords on his bedroll before he sets off into the woods to check the set traps he’d placed when they arrived.
It doesn’t take him long, or maybe it takes Lambert more time than usual because as Aiden approaches he catches a glimpse through the trees and realizes Lambert is still polishing his silver blade.
But no. Lambert’s grip is wrapped in black, not the woodsy brown that’s beneath his hands now. Aiden waits a few moments longer, watches Lambert stand and slip Aiden’s silver sword back in its sheath on his bedroll where he’d tossed it.
That night, after Lambert’s breath has evened out and his jaw’s gone slack with sleep, Aiden sits up and pulls his blade from its sheath far enough to inspect the edge. It’s perfect, he expected nothing less, but he finds he can’t stop himself just looking at it. When he thinks of all the times he’d done exactly what he did tonight and never noticed that his shitty maintenance was suddenly perfect overnight, he feels a little dense. But there’s a fragile, warm thing growing in Aiden’s chest. It’s melting over his bones and seeping into his veins, lighting him up from the inside out and erasing all his doubts, his fears. He feels powerful, with this obvious sign of Lambert’s affection staring him in the face, right under his nose for months now.
He falls asleep with a smile he can’t seem to get rid of.
# # #
Aiden is concerned that he may bite his own tongue clean off trying to keep his mouth shut. Each new thing he uncovers only serves to make it twice as difficult not to spout every romantic declaration he’s ever had cross his mind at Lambert.
Aiden hates picking arenaria because it always makes him sneeze; he runs out of it constantly, unless he’s traveling with Lambert. The offending bloom seems to materialize in his bags after Lambert goes gathering.
Aiden broke his left knee several years ago and it didn’t heal properly, so now if there’s the slightest chill in the air it aches and throbs along with his heartbeat. Lambert unerringly has an extra waterskin that he places near the fire on cold nights and wordlessly retrieves at the first glimpse of Aiden rubbing at his injured joint.
Aiden can’t take Thunderbolt without feeling like he’s coming out of his skin for hours afterwards. Lambert will get up as Aiden paces after they eat dinner, exhaustion plain in the set of his shoulders, and scoop up both of their steel blades. He never says a word, they just spar until Aiden’s legs are shaking and his grip fails. Lambert coaxes him to his bedroll, sheathes both of their blades and places them within reach before climbing into his own to sleep.
Aiden has a hard time brewing potions. He can’t ever seem to get the measurements quite right, always adds too much of this or not enough of that . His potions work , but they don’t last as long as they should so Aiden goes through more of them. This, in turn, means that he often can’t replace them as quickly as he uses them and winds up going without more often than is advisable. At least, that’s what he used to do. He and Lambert don’t meet up on any kind of real schedule but Aiden notices that he hasn’t traveled alone for longer than a three week stretch without running into Lambert again for nearly an entire season. And every time they go their separate ways Lambert will shove a small wooden box, glass vials tucked inside in neat rows, into Aiden’s chest with barely a grunt of acknowledgement.
It’s definitely something , but he isn’t quite sure what to do with what he’s learned. At least until Lambert grunts out an invitation to winter with him at Kaer Morhen.
# # #
Watching Lambert’s family interact with him is every bit as helpful as he hoped it would be.
Geralt and Vesemir have a tendency to butt heads with Lambert. This often ends in either blows ( Lambert ), cutting insults ( Geralt ), or a cold shoulder the likes of which Aiden has never seen ( Vesemir ). Aiden can understand Lambert’s problems with Vesemir, he’s sure he doesn’t know the true scope of their issues but he knows enough to be aware that it’s a complex and delicate matter. Geralt and Lambert’s spats are different, not as hateful as Lambert’s bouts with Vesemir but still aggressive enough that Eskel occasionally puts himself between them. Eskel seems to have the easiest time navigating Lambert’s ever-changing moods. Not to say they don’t argue, Lambert has an uncanny ability to seek out a person’s sore points and jab at them relentlessly when he’s in a foul temper, but these arguments never last long and rarely escalate beyond Eskel storming from a room for an hour.
The most useful thing he gleans from watching Lambert’s family is what each of them do after these disagreements.
Geralt spends a majority of his free time in the stables with the horses. Aiden goes looking for him after he eats lunch because the older Witcher had mentioned a diagram for a crossbow design from the Cat School he’d be willing to give Aiden. He doesn’t find Geralt in the stables, however, but the armory where he’s hunched over a black leather gambeson that is clearly several inches too small for his broad shoulders. Geralt pauses in his work for a moment, leans over to slip a worn piece of parchment from a pile in the corner and passes Aiden the diagram when he tells Geralt why he’s there.
He doesn’t exactly mean to ask but the words just sort of slip out as he turns to leave the room.
“What’re you working on?”
“New gambeson,” he grunts, “for Lambert.”
“Why?”
Geralt sighs, glances at Aiden for a moment before refocusing on the stitches he’d been carefully adding. “Leather on his old one is getting brittle.”
“Okay…” Aiden turns to leave again but just makes a full circle to eye Geralt again. “But why are you doing it? Does he not know how?”
“Vesemir taught all of us leatherworking and basic blacksmithing skills.” Geralt doesn’t stop his work or otherwise acknowledge that Aiden is still in the room.
“So…?”
Another sigh, more impatient than the last, and a brief pause to bite out, “I pissed him off.”
“Why not just apologize?”
Geralt’s responding glare is effective enough for him to retreat without an actual answer.
A few weeks later he finds Eskel in the yard cutting firewood, though last Aiden remembered it was Lambert’s day. He nearly asks the man but then he remembers the shouting he’d heard this morning in the library. He makes no comment on the extra firewood outside Lambert’s door that evening.
Near the middle of the season, Lambert and Vesemir get into a row of epic proportions. Aiden hears them from the courtyard and catches sight of Lambert storming through the gates shortly after. Vesemir he finds in the Grand Hall with his elbows propped on his knees and his fingers pinching tight at the bridge of his nose. Lambert returns hours later and he looks through Vesemir as if the old man isn’t even there. The next night however, after they eat dinner, Vesemir heads back to the kitchen without a word and he returns with two steaming apple pies. He places them both on the table, the first near Lambert where he sits at the end of one of the long tables and the other a little further down so Eskel, Geralt, and Aiden can reach it. He leaves without a word but Aiden sees the softening at the corners of Lambert’s eyes, the subtle drop of his shoulders.
On the other hand, Aiden observes Lambert doing little nothings for his family like he does for Aiden on the Path. He notices Lambert passing Eskel a small metal tin every few weeks. It’s filled with a salve, he learns when he asks Eskel about it one evening, Lambert makes it for Eskel’s scarring to help soften the skin and keep it from cracking and splitting in the cold.
Lambert bullies Geralt into the keep when the air turns frigid and the older witcher tries to hobble out to the stables to look in on the horses. He shoves his brother down in front of the fire and drops a waterskin in his lap with a glare that dares Geralt to argue with him. Aiden knows the waterskin will be warm from sitting near the fire all day and he knows, well, the relief Geralt feels when he settles it over his own badly healed injury and melts into his chair with a groan. Lambert has already stalked back outside to check on Geralt’s demon mare and Eskel’s Scorpion and he dutifully reports their comfort to his brother on his return.
When Lambert comes across Vesemir snoring before the fire some evenings, when the chores have been long and backbreaking for everyone, he wakes the old witcher with a gentle hand.
“You keep sleepin’ like that, old man, and you’ll get stuck that way,” he’ll murmur and Vesemir will grunt and grumble his way upstairs to his room. On these nights, Lambert takes it on himself to do all the little menial tasks Vesemir would usually complete before he went to bed. Aiden’s never heard either of them so much as hint at these occurrences.
So, his family is obviously just as aware as Aiden is of Lambert’s unwillingness to believe someone’s words alone. This is good, something Aiden can work with because it means that Lambert’s distrust is not exclusive to Aiden.
By the time spring rolls around, he has a carefully thought out plan that he’s sure will get through to his stubborn wolf.
# # #
Aiden isn’t sure what to expect from their departure. Eskel and Geralt weren’t leaving the same days, as each other or Aiden and Lambert, and Vesemir would be in the keep a few more weeks than the rest. He assumed the other wolves would say a brief farewell at breakfast, but it remains the quiet affair it has been all winter. Lambert heads up to get his things from his room and Aiden follows suit. He takes a few more minutes to ensure he hasn’t left anything that isn’t easily replaceable and so winds up meeting Lambert in the courtyard.
Eskel, Geralt, and Vesemir are already there talking with Lambert when Aiden steps into the outer courtyard. They don’t notice him right away, though he isn’t sure it would have made a difference if they had, so he watches their exchange.
Vesemir steps up first, drops a hand on Lambert’s shoulder and the other on the scruff of his neck. Aiden can’t make out what he says, but he leans in far enough to bump his forehead to Lambert’s before he cuffs him affectionately over his head. Geralt wraps the youngest wolf in something between a one armed hug and headlock, he bumps his forehead to Lambert’s temple and lingers for a few breaths. Lambert must have something teasing to say about it because Geralt snaps his teeth playfully as he pulls away with a grin. Eskel scrubs his hand over Lambert’s hair until it settles at the scruff of his neck, the weight of it seems to drain all the tension from Lambert’s shoulders. He stands nose to nose with Lambert, eyes closed just breathing each other in, for a solid five minutes before he’s released.
Aiden hangs back a few more moments to prod at the strange feeling in his chest. He’s almost… jealous . Hm. It’s not quite right but it’s as close as Aiden can find. He feels a little like an intruder, watching the easy affection Lambert shares with his family as they say goodbye. A little like an outsider and a little like he always will be .
He shakes himself out of his thoughts and heads down.
Lambert grins when he sees Aiden has joined them, he goes a little soft around the edges. It’s just enough to allow the warm thing in Aiden’s chest to swallow up his misplaced sense of not belonging.
With the young wolf looking at him like that, he belongs wherever Lambert wants him to be.
# # #
His plan does not work. In point of fact, he comes on entirely too strong with his first attempt and Lambert spends the next two weeks eyeing him as though he’s a poised viper ready to strike.
He can admit that he should have been more subtle. You see, Aiden and Lambert have an unspoken agreement about expenses while they travel together. They split the cost on anything they plan to share and pay for anything else individually. At least, that’s how it started. The list of shared items seems to grow longer all the time but they always split the cost of an inn room. Aiden should’ve known Lambert would be suspicious of an offer to pay for the whole thing, especially right after winter.
He just couldn’t help himself. He wanted to see the spark of understanding in Lambert’s expressive eyes, wanted to watch the softening of his sharp edges as he realized he was cared for more than he thought he was, by more than just his family. He wanted Lambert to know his place in Aiden’s heart and at his side. He needed Lambert to feel it in his soul the way Aiden had over the past several months.
Because Aiden has never been more certain that Lambert loves him. He says it every day; Aiden just had to learn to hear it in the scrape of a whetstone down a silver blade and the clinking of glass bottles in a wooden box.
Nevertheless, Aiden forces himself to re-evaluate and try again. Gentler , this time.
# # #
He waits until after they’ve completed and been paid for a contract on a fiend. It paid rather well but the villagers weren’t keen on having two witchers stay in their inn any longer than necessary so Aiden and Lambert had trudged out of town after collecting their coin and made camp after they put some distance at their backs.
They make camp and maintain their equipment. Aiden checks the traps and cooks dinner while Lambert evaluates their potions stock and ingredients. He waits until they’ve finished eating to reach a hand down into his bag, the little bundle is miraculously still a little warm when he settles it on Lambert’s thigh.
He eyes it for a moment, glances at Aiden who has already gotten up and walked into the treeline like he’s gone for a piss. He doesn’t go far, keeps close enough that his keen eyes can still make out the details of Lambert’s face through the trees.
He watches Lambert unfold the linen, catches the shock of pleased surprise in his eyes, the deep inhale to savor the scent. Aiden is certain he paid at least double for that apple tart but the content smile Lambert wears as he eats it is worth every oren.
More , even, because Lambert is still wearing it when Aiden returns. They skip sparring for the night, opting instead to laze around the fire. The smile lingers around the corners of his wolf’s mouth as he settles himself close enough to lean his shoulder into Aiden’s while he brags about his killing blow on the fiend.
His touch sends shockwaves racing across Aiden’s skin and the warm, soft thing in his heart grows wings.
I love you.
Aiden nearly bites through his tongue to stop the words.
# # #
He choses one small thing each day. He doesn’t make a fuss or otherwise acknowledge the thing and Lambert loosens a little more as the days roll by. He laughs a little louder, smiles a little easier, sleeps a little harder ( read: snores like a godsdamned chort when he’s really, truly out . ), and he’s more tactile. He reaches out for Aiden constantly now; a hand dropped to his shoulder as he sits beside Aiden around the fire, bumping their shoulders together as they walk down a wide lane, a tug to an errant curl when he’s teasing.
The best change though, the one that makes Aiden’s insides warm and his cheeks heat when he thinks of it, is their farewell.
They part ways a few weeks into summer, Aiden is going east to locate the caravan and Lambert is heading south in search of easy work he can do quickly for some minor armor repairs, and they have plans to meet again in a month’s time.
Aiden wraps a hand around Lambert’s wrist, meets his eyes when Lambert returns the grip, and gives the customary nod that has been their goodbye as long as he’s known the wolf.
Lambert doesn’t release him though, just stands there staring into Aiden’s soul for what feels like an hour. He steps forward and presses his forehead to Aiden’s, finally lets his piercing eyes slip closed with a rumble from deep in his chest. He doesn’t meet Aiden’s eyes again, just turns and strides away.
It’s just as well, really, because it means that he doesn’t see the positively stupid, love sick, mortifying grin on Aiden’s face.
# # #
Four weeks feels like an eternity, but Lambert steps in close when they meet again. He draws in deep breaths through his nose, lingers in Aiden’s space like he wants to savor the scent of him. He stays close enough to touch until they make camp and even then Aiden can feel his eyes like a brand, like the heat of the sun caressing his skin.
When they’re settled for the evening with their bellies full and their muscles aching from a spar, Lambert places something in Aiden’s lap with barely a glance at him.
“What’s this?”
“‘S a book, what’s it look like?” he grumbles, studiously tending the fire with just a little more focus than is really necessary.
The title catches his attention before he can snark back at the other witcher, it’s a book of Aen Seidhe fairy tales in surprisingly good condition since it seems to be quite old. He can’t help the delighted upturn of his lips as he flips to the first story and gives the introduction a quick scan.
“Where did you find this?”
“Did a contract for the owner of a bookstore while I was down in Toussaint, saw it in his shop and he gave me a deal on it,” Lambert explains. His tone is nonchalant but he won’t meet Aiden’s eyes still, not even a glance, and that’s more telling than anything else.
“You bought this for me?” he asks, because some desperate little piece of him needs to hear Lambert say it.
Lambert finally peeks at Aiden from the corner of his eye. “Yeah, you’ve been reading the same ten stories for like a year. Figured you’d appreciate some new material.”
Lambert shrugs like it’s nothing but his eyes , they always give him away.
“Thank you, Lambert…” Aiden whispers, because this feels fragile and he feels fragile , like the slightest tap would shatter him to pieces. Because no one has ever given Aiden anything simply because he enjoyed it. The few gifts he’d ever received from his brothers were practical, they said I want you to survive , but this… This says I want you to be happy . And no one has ever cared enough to wonder about Aiden’s happiness, to hope for it or encourage it.
No one, it seems, but Lambert.
Aiden’s heart is soaring and he can’t help himself any longer.
“I love you.”
He really means it to come out sure and strong, clear and concise, but he breathes it into the night air like a secret. Like too much noise will shatter them both to pieces.
Lambert really looks at Aiden then, his brow furrowed curiously.
“I know,” he says simply.
Aiden can’t quite process it and it must show on his face because Lambert huffs like he’s annoyed that he has to explain himself.
“You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are, kitten, at least not to me,” he says with a roll of his eyes. Aiden just gapes at him, can’t manage anything more than that yet. “I didn’t catch on right away, I don’t think, but I noticed it after we left Kaer Morhen. How long before that?”
“A while,” Aiden murmurs, still a little bit in shock.
“Hm,” Lambert grunts and his calculating eyes trap Aiden where he sits. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have taken the time to show me. And I know you well enough to know you’re not fickle with your heart. So I know that you love me, like I know the sun rises in the east.” Lambert shifts so he’s kneeling in front of Aiden, pushes forward so he’s pressed between his thighs, and catches an auburn curl between his calloused fingers. “In case you were wondering, I love you, too,” Lambert says casually, like he hasn’t just knocked the breath from Aiden’s lungs and stopped his heart in his chest. “I don’t like words, they’re small and insignificant, there aren’t any big enough to put around this because those aren’t enough but… I’ll tell you everyday if that’s what you need to be sure of it, of me. ”
It takes a full minute for Aiden to reset his brain enough to form words and he isn’t sure what he plans to say until he opens his mouth, then he knows it couldn’t have been anything else.
“You already do…” he whispers, “you already tell me every day.”
Lambert’s smile is tender and fond. He tastes like summer heat and cinnamon.