Chapter Text
Lambert lunged to the side, his bloodied shoulder colliding painfully with the ground as he rolled out of reach of the swooping griffin. The damn villagers hadn’t even known it was a griffin. The only consistency among witnesses were the claims that the creature could fly, but it hadn’t left enough survivors to pry details from the uninformed populous. So it really shouldn’t have been a surprise that their descriptions didn’t include any of the obvious signs that would have told Lambert it was actually a mated pair.
Their stupidity was going to get him killed someday. As the Griffin dove for him, Lambert mentally corrected his claim. It was entirely possible that the ineptitude of those damned villagers might just cost him his life before the sun set again. His swings were weakened by the deep claws that had raked through the leather of his armor, tearing deep into his flesh.
“Fuck.” He muttered as he palmed his pouch and found only one bomb remained. Caught unaware by the second griffin, the mate had knocked him to the ground sending his crossbow skidding across the dirt until it slammed into a rock, snapping one of its limbs. That left him with a single bomb and a silver sword he could barely heft.
Chest heaving with exertion, Lambert crouched, the bomb held tight in his grip as he waited for the griffin to approach again. Ignorant to the weapon hidden in his hand, the griffin dove toward him. At the last second, Lambert launched the bomb toward the creature and dodged to the side. He watched the creature writhe as silver shrapnel pierced it’s skin.
His mind felt woozy as he crouched defensively, waiting for the weakened griffin to strike again. For a single moment, his eyes fluttered shut. He forced his heavy lids to open once more. There was no time to react as the griffin bore down on him, sending his body stumbling back. He heard a crack as his head collided with a hard surface. Then everything went black.
---
There was something cool and moist against his lips. Water, he realized as a slow trickle began to drip into his mouth. Warm fingers rubbed at his throat, making Lambert stiffen. The sensation against his lips and throat disappeared instantly. “Are you awake?” An unfamiliar voice asked.
Despite the melodic lilt and smooth timbre of the voice, it set off a thunder storm in Lambert’s skull. His head throbbed, but even worse was the shooting pain that felt like he had taken a pickaxe to the back of his skull. He only managed an incoherent grumble but forced his eyes to open.
The only light came from a nearby fire, illuminating the walls of a sizable cave and the face of his apparent savior. A man was crouched on his knees, leaning over Lambert. His lips were pressed together, curved down in a concerned frown. It was a shame, Lambert thought, that he wore such a distraught expression, for he looked like he’d have a rather nice smile. His hair fell in shiny black waves that brushed against his elegant cheekbones when he leaned forward, and his facial hair was neatly trimmed. It was difficult to tell in the poor lighting, but Lambert thought his skin seemed warmer and darker than typical for the northern regions of the continent. The firelight caught on the silvery pendant around his neck, making fragments of light dance along the low ceiling when the man shuffled.
“Do you want some more water?” The man asked. He heard the question, but his mind didn’t seem to process it. Instead he just smiled up at the man before drowsiness overtook him.
---
A sweet melody floated through the air, soothing and familiar yet unrecognizable. His head ached, a dull pounding and heaviness that made his skull feel like it was full of bricks. When he shifted in an attempt to make himself more comfortable, pain seared through his shoulder, making him wince. The humming stopped.
“Decided to join the world of the living again?” A voice sounded from nearby.
With great effort, Lambert managed to open his eyes. He was in a cave of some sort, daylight filtering in from the large mouth a few feet to his left. Footsteps sounded from nearby, and then a man was crouching over him. Lambert didn’t recognize him, but the pendant around his neck and cat slit eyes meant something. He wracked his foggy brain for why those characteristics seemed so notable to him.
“You alright there, wolf?” The man asked, running a hand through his black waves, green eyes narrowing as a frown pulled at the corners of his mouth.
“Wolf?” Lambert repeated back to him, confused. Perhaps it was a colloquial term, Lambert assumed, recognizing the man’s accent as that of Mettina, a land Lambert had never traveled through. He didn’t recall any of the immigrants he had met using that term, but the memories were rather fuzzy and elusive at the moment.
“You’d prefer Lambert then?” The man asked with a shrug, kneeling beside Lambert.
“How do you know my name.” Lambert flinched away when the man reached for his injured shoulder.
“What do you mean? And stop fidgeting. I need to take a look at that.” The man scolded him and pulled a bandage from Lambert’s shoulder before he could move away again. He hummed approvingly and replaced it with a clean bandage. “Healing well.” He muttered.
“Did you go through my stuff?” Lambert demanded.
The man’s brows furrowed, and he tilted his head as he looked down at Lambert. “Lambert, do you know who I am?”
“No. Not like you’re fucking famous.” Lambert bit out, feeling uncomfortable under the man’s scrutiny.
“Shit.” The man declared, running a hand through his hair and tugging on the strands. It seemed to be an anxious habit of his. “What’s the last thing you do remember?”
Lambert’s mind was an indecipherable blur. He blinked up at the man who seemed to recognize him. “Fuck, I don’t know.” He finally admitted, unable to assign an order to the fragments of recollection that slipped away as soon as he turned his mind their way.
“Do you remember anything?” The man’s voice was carefully calm, but Lambert could hear the tension of self-restraint.
“I’m a witcher.” Lambert recalled suddenly, grasping at the medallion around his neck. That’s what he had recognized on the other man. He reached for the other man’s pendant with his uninjured arm. “And so are you.”
The man nodded. He rubbed a weary hand across his face, scrubbing away his dour expression and replacing it with a soft smile. “That’s right. My name is Aiden. We’ve worked together on a couple of contracts.” He explained, sinking back to sit more fully on the ground at Lambert’s side.
“Why can’t I remember that.” Lambert growled. He didn’t really mean it as a question, more intent on declaring his frustration than anything else, but Aiden answered anyway.
“You got mauled by a griffin. If a town hadn’t sent me at the same pair you were hunting, you would’ve been its dinner. You definitely hit your head.” Aiden brought Lambert’s hand up to feel the bandages layered under his skull. “Hard enough to knock your memories loose it seems. Your healing ought to fix it soon, I would think.”
“Thanks for that, then.” Lambert grumbled. He felt like shit, but it was still better than being a griffin’s meal.
“You’ve done it for me.” Aiden dismissed his gratitude easily, leaving Lambert wondering how well they knew each other.
“We’re friends then.” Lambert stated, and Aiden only shrugged. He supposed it was rather insulting to forget a friend, but he thought it ought to be excused considering he couldn’t seem to remember anyone. “How long have we known each other then?” Lambert pressed.
“Few months.” Aiden replied, fishing a bottle from the satchel at his waist and holding it out to Lambert. “Swallow.” He offered.
Lambert took the bottle, uncorking it and giving it a sniff. His nose scrunched at the putrid odor. “If we’re friends you really ought to let me teach you a thing or two about alchemy.” He muttered before tossing the liquid back and swallowing with a grimace.
“I’d like that.” Aiden grinned as he took the empty bottle back. “I’ll admit it was never my strongest skill, but I promise you my swallow is at least passable. Wouldn’t recommend borrowing anything other than my healing potions to be honest.”
Lambert huffed a chuckle. “Guess that’s something I can pass on while I’m still laid up before we get back on the path.”
“Sounds good, wolf.” Aiden addressed him again. Lambert’s hand floated up to his medallion, feeling the shape of a wolf’s head hanging around his neck.
“So did I call you cat, then?” He asked.
“Mostly.” Aiden shrugged.
“Any other nicknames I should know about? Moggy? Kitty-cat? Kitten?” Lambert teased in an attempt to lighten the conversation. The tips of Aiden’s ears flushed red at the last suggestion.
“Absolutely not.” Aiden spluttered. Lambert smirked, and Aiden took it as a challenge. “And I’d suggest you keep them out of your mouth unless you prefer to go by puppy.” He threatened, and Lambert knew he’d make good on it from the gleam in his green eyes.