Chapter Text
Lambert was fucked. Out of all the ways a witcher could die, it had never crossed his mind that this, this, was how he was going to go. What a fucking fiasco.
Lambert sat on the forest floor, his right leg caught in a bear trap. Normally it wouldn’t have been a problem. At least not a deadly problem. He would have just opened it, guzzled down some swallows and huddled in his camp for a few days while he waited for the wound to heal. But the goddamn bear trap wouldn’t budge. It just wouldn’t. Lambert had tried everything. He had tried until his hands bled and until his steel sword had broken (he had tried to use it as a lever) and until his throat was sore from cursing. The damn thing was unmovable.
Lambert wanted to laugh. Lambert wanted to cry. This was the most ridiculous thing that had ever happened to him. If Eskel and Geralt found out that this was how he’d died, they would disown him. When asked about him they would say: “Who? Never heard of that guy.”
“No they wouldn’t,” a small voice in his head said. “They would be sad.” Lambert shooed it away. Those kinds of thoughts were of no use to him now. Those kinds of thoughts would only delay the inevitable: his demise.
Lambert knew he could cut his leg off. The only problem was that he didn’t want to do that. And it wasn’t because he was too scared of the pain it would cause him. He shied away from that solution because he would rather die than live as a one legged witcher. A witcher with three limbs was as good as a dead witcher anyway. Although Vesemir would of course welcome Lambert to live with him to Kaer Morhen. But Lambert couldn’t live like that. As much as he hated the path, it was better than to endlessly haunt the keep that had so many painful memories stored inside its walls. If he was forced to live there, he would end up leaping off the battlements. So what were his options really? He was going to die no matter what he did, so shouldn’t this be the first time in his life that he granted some godsdamn mercy towards himself? Shouldn’t he just end it now when he was still coherent enough? Before beasts of the forest found him, before he became dehydrated and weak.
He was happy that it had been his steel sword that had broken. Steel was for humans, silver for monsters.
“What the fuck are you doing?” A voice interrupted Lambert when he was just about to plunge a sword into his guts.
Great. Witness was exactly what this shit show lacked. Lambert was about to tell whoever the guy was to fuck off but then he took a second glance. The "guy" was another witcher. He was quite tall, brown skinned, had reddish hair and eyes so green that they were clearly unnatural. Lambert noticed that he wore one of those lithe armors that Geralt had also sometimes worn, and the next thing he knew, the man was kneeling by his side and Lambert was no longer in possession of his sword.
“What the-“
“If you think I’m going to let a fellow brother off themselves, you’re sorely mistaken my friend.”
“I’m not your fucking brother and sure as fuck ain’t your friend.”
“Whatever dude. I thought wolf witchers were a tougher breed than this. A little bear trap boo-boo too much for you?”
“I’m stuck you idiot!” Lambert spat and noted that the other man had a cat school medallion around his neck. Oh great. It was just his luck that it had to be one of those crazy bastards that found him.
“I can see that and I’m wondering what do they teach you in that school of yours? Don’t you carry potions with you?”
“Of course I carry potions, what’s that got to do with anything?” If Lambert wasn’t trapped, he would have smacked that smug look right off this man’s face.
“Look, my reluctant friend, this right here is a magical trap. It cannot be opened with brute force but pour a simple magic repellent on top of it and it opens like whore's thighs with coin.”
“I- what?” Lambert had never heard of such thing. Surely this was some new shenanigan the younger sorcerers had invented. They got worse and worse with each generation.
“Who the fuck uses magical bear traps?”
“The villagers who hired you and me to deal with the monsters in these woods. They told me that before us, they had hired a sorcerer to enchant their traps because the beasts had easily escaped the normal ones.”
“And of course they forgot to mention this to me.”
“Maybe you should have smiled more? They said you looked like a mean fella.”
“They hired you even though they already had me on the job. Real classy,” Lambert said through gritted teeth. He truly wanted to strangle this smirking son of a bitch and also the villagers and also the sorcerer.
“They were desperate. And you said the job would take a few hours and it’s the next day already. They thought you were dead.”
Lambert grimaced. Villagers were almost right about that.
“Well, I don’t have a fucking magic repellent on me. And I can’t exactly brew one right now.”
“It’s your lucky day handsome, I have some on me,” the man said and flashed a smile that seemed to be all canines. He popped open a little vial and poured its contents on the bear trap. And low and behold, the trap opened.
“Melitele’s fucking cunt,” Lambert swore as he dragged his foot out of the trap’s bite and a fresh wave of pain washed over him.
“You have to go to a healer,” the guy said.
“Like hell I do,” Lambert said, stood up and was only saved from falling to his face by the other man’s quick reflexes.
“Let go of me,” Lambert hissed.
“I didn’t save you from that trap just to let you die out here. Come on, I have a camp nearby. You can rest there”, the man said and put Lambert’s arm around his shoulders so he could help Lambert walk. It turned out walking was out of the question and Lambert had to hop on his healthy leg to get forward. His brain was going overdrive as they moved on:
There was no way he was going to sleep in this crazy fucker’s camp. Who knew what would happen in the dark hours of the night. He would probably get his throat slit and then relieved from all his earthly belongings. He needed to shake this asshole off his tail. But how could he do it in this condition?
An embarrassingly high pitched yelp escaped Lambert’s mouth as the man scooped him up bridal style.
“Sorry buddy, I want to get there before dark. I’m Aiden by the way.”
“Lambert,” Lambert said through gritted teeth. He was never telling anyone anything about this whole ordeal.
The camp wasn’t far. It was on a little clearing, shielded by big birch trees. Lambert heard the sound of water so there was a stream nearby but he couldn’t see it through the branches. Aiden’s stuff was on the ground, including his bedroll that he kicked open with his foot and then lowered Lambert on top of it. That’s how Lambert found himself sitting on the ground, with the guy, no, Aiden, kneeling in front of him and looking at him with those ridiculously green eyes. This close Lambert could see that there were small yellow spots in them too.
“How do you feel? Your pulse is elevated and you’re sweaty,” Aiden said and raised his hand to try Lambert’s forehead. Lambert swatted the hand away.
“I’m fine. I-” he tried to think of how he could get away from this Aiden without looking too suspicious. “I need some water,” he said and tried to get up. Maybe if he got to the stream, he could cross it and- Whoa! Something was seriously wrong. The second he got up, he had to sit back down because the world started to sway. This time he wasn’t quick enough to stop the hand reaching to his forehead.
“You’re burning up.”
And then Lambert could feel it, the hot tendrils of heat engulfing his body. Lambert didn’t remember the last time he had had a fever, unless it was-, oh gods, it was. No, let’s not go there, he thought frantically as Aiden helped him lie down on his back.
“What the fuck is going on?” Lambert muttered. He shouldn’t be feeling this shitty from a little wound.
“It seems that because the trap was magical, the wound is magical as well. Shit. Why didn’t I think of that.”
“Didn’t you use your fancy magic repellent to chase the magic away?”
“Yes, from the trap. Not your wound. The magic is already in your system.”
“Well just give me another one of those repellents.”
“It doesn’t work like that. The wound is magical but it works the same as any biological wound. The magic just makes it worse, a lot worse.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means that a very powerful infection is spreading in your body with lighting speed. And it seems that this particular magic works even on mutated cells. You really should go to a healer. I can carry you.”
“No! I don’t want a healer,” and damn this illness was making him loose lipped. He had meant to say that he didn’t need a healer. Just one word was different yet it made a huge difference regarding how much he revealed of himself to this person. Yeah, Lambert loathed going to healers. He would not let some hag put their dirty old fingers all over him and poke and prod him if he could help it. But Aiden didn’t need to know that.
Aiden was silent for a moment and Lambert watched how his lower lip got redder and redder as he chewed it. Finally he said:
“Okay, okay, here’s what I’m going to do.” Lambert could smell that he was nervous. Why was he nervous? Lambert was an easy target now. Aiden wouldn’t even have to wait until nightfall. With his fucked up leg and a head that was swimming like he had drank too many Gauntlets, he wouldn’t last long against a healthy witcher.
“I’m going to go to the village and get what you need from the healer and then I will come straight back to you.”
Yeah right, Lambert thought. Lambert wasn’t going to get his throat slit which was nice but this guy was going to the village to get his money from the ealdorman, nothing else. He would leave Lambert here to rot and thinking that suddenly spiked a little fear in him. Was he really going to die here? “You will die on the road, alone and abandoned, like a good witcher should,” the voice in his head said mockingly. Great.
The fucker even put a blanket on Lambert before he mumbled something and left. It was weird to take such care of a man you were going to leave here to die but whatever. If Lambert was going to die, better to do so being as comfortable as possible. Maybe it was just mercy that Aiden was giving him? Or was it pity? One was better than the other but Lambert couldn’t make sense of which was which and why. Fever was worming in his brain and it yanked him into fitful sleep.
He was back there again, on that table. They were holding him down and Lambert was fighting, he was fighting for his life. No, he didn’t want this, he didn’t want this, why wouldn’t they listen to him! He was screaming and begging and someone was still trying to make him drink the potion. Lambert felt tears on his face, tasted blood in his mouth, smelled the foul smell of the laboratory, the bitter sweat on the mages skin. Wait a
moment, there was the smell of sweat but it wasn’t one of the mages. Who was that? Lambert could swear that it was someone he had met before but not in the laboratory. More recently. More recently? (Oh yes, he was older now. He was so young on that table.) And there wasn’t a memory of pain attached to this smell. Or was there? Lambert remembered his leg hurting. But that had started before this person had entered the picture, right? This person smelled stressed yes, but not angry or violent. And the voice, the voice wasn’t screaming at him to obey. It was asking him, begging him:
“Lambert please, I’m not trying to hurt you. Remember me? I’m Aiden. I found you in that trap. I have the potion that will help you.”
No, no, no. Lambert would rather die than drink a trial potion again.
“Look, look,” the voice said and Lambert looked. Though the image was hazy and wavering, he saw a man with shining, green eyes looking at him, and then the man raised a potion bottle to his own lips and took a sip. Lambert watched as nothing happened.
What? The man should be screaming in agony right now.
“See? It’s not dangerous. Please drink it, it will help with the fever. Your wound is infected, remember?”
The wound? What wound? And then Lambert remembered. The other man, no, Aiden, could apparently see the realization on Lambert’s face because he raised the bottle to Lambert’s lips and with his other hand he supported Lambert’s head so he could drink.
“Thank you,” Aiden said and Lambert wondered who he was thanking and then he slept again.
Morning came and Lambert woke without fever. First thing he saw was Aiden who was sitting next to him and not just sitting there but looking at Lambert with his disturbingly bright eyes. Had the man watched over him the whole night? What a creep. Lambert turned his gaze away and noticed that his armor was in a neat pile beside him and it had been cleaned and polished, same with his silver sword. There were even the pieces of his steel sword, bound together with a scarf. Lambert was so confused.
“Why did you come back?” Lambert said or rather croaked. Aiden was quick to pass him a cup full of water.
“Because I said I would?” Aiden said, his brows furrowing.
A man of honor then, how great. Lambert had enough men of honor back at Kaer Morhen to last for a lifetime. Although, his lifetime could have been cut short without Aiden’s honor. Ugh.
“Well, thanks,” Lambert said and scrubbed at his face. He felt unbelievably awkward. What did you do when someone saved your life? Did he now have a life debt to pay? Shit, he did, didn’t he? He could have ignored it yes but Lambert had seen what ignored debts could do to people, so better safe than sorry. Maybe he could help the man with his next contract or something, protect him in turn and pay off his debt that way? That sounded reasonable, right?
“You're welcome. There’s a stream nearby. Let’s get you there so you can wash that wound. I cleaned it with wet rags last night but streaming water is better. The healer said that you need to keep it clean so when the wound closes, it won’t cause you blood poisoning,” Aiden said.
Huh, so instead of slitting his throat during his sleep, Aiden had cleaned his wound. Interesting and a little worrying.
“Also, you smell like sickness and it’s making me nauseous,” Aiden continued.
Lambert sniffed himself. Oh yeah, he smelled like a plagued rat.
Aiden undressed without any trace of self consciousness and hopped in the water, only to come out of there screaming.
“It’s fucking cold,” he whined as he jumped from foot to foot on the river bank and his ass cheeks bounced happily in the morning light. What. No, don’t look at that, Lambert thought and wanted to slap himself. He needed to keep his guards up with this guy, perfect ass or not. “More like perfect everything,” the voice in his head said and like usually, Lambert agreed with it. If he took a few more glances at the beautiful male physic in full display in front of him, there were no witnesses there to prove it.
Lambert stripped out of his own clothes more slowly. The pants were completely ruined but his shirt just needed a good rinse and some soap. He didn’t have any soap so the rinse would have to do. But first the wound. Surprisingly the wound didn’t hurt more as he sat on the bank and lowered his injured leg into the water. The wound had had a dull ache all morning and the cold water actually felt divine and eased the ache. Lambert sighed and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Aiden was right in front of him, crouched down so they were at eye level. Lambert startled and was immediately embarrassed about it.
“Sorry!” Aiden said grinning. The fucker didn’t look sorry at all. “Can I wash your hair?” he then asked like that was a perfectly normal thing to say.
“What?” Lambert squeaked.
“Can I wash your hair?” Aiden repeated.
“Uh, no thanks.”
“Okay.” Aiden sunk his own head in the water and oh he did have a soap with him. He lathered his hair generously with it and when Lambert was just about to ask if he could use the soap as well, Aiden tossed it to him.
Lambert washed his own hair and his shirt and his underwear. Weirdly Aiden didn’t offer to wash those.
The rest of the day passed as Lambert tried to help Aiden with the camp chores and Aiden tried to get him to rest.
“You nearly died. Please take a nap and let me handle this.”
“I’m a witcher. I’m used to almost dying.”
“Yeah, yeah, Mr. tough guy.”
For some reason all the snarky comebacks eluded Lambert so he very grumpily took a goddamn nap.