artistsfuneral

Witchers weren't supposed to seek out their former families. It wasn't necessarily forbidden, but it was drilled into their little brains the moment they set foot into the keep. Lambert had always thought it a useless endeavor. The majority of the boys that were brought to Kaer Morhen were either orphans or abandoned by their families and therefore had no place to return to. Those who did have someone waiting for them- Well, there'd hardly be anyone on the Path to stop them, for the Path is always walked alone. To Lambert it was simply a bunch of bullshit, meaningless words that held no consequences. So Lambert left Kaer Morhen with two swords on his back and a snarling wolf medallion around his neck to do what he had sworn himself to do ever since his Ma's passing. He'd beat his father to death and then some more.

Lambert had spent years imagining it. How he'd return to his father's farm to find the man where he'd always been. On the porch of the rickety old house, drunk off his ass and surrounded by empty bottles that stank to high heaven in the burning summer sun. Some times he imagined the look on his father's face as he recognized the witcher in front of him, the fear and terror in his eyes when he would have realized that he would not leave this encounter alive. Other times he thinks about the possibility that the amounts of alcohol had consumed over the years might as well had melted his brain altogether, leaving but a garbling mess of a man behind that Lambert would get rid off. No matter what would await him, it wouldn't change his actions at all. Lambert wanted revenge and he would get it. He'd tie the pathetic excuse of a human down and bring him pain. Lambert was by all means not a patient man, but he'd enjoy the wait this time. Watch as the man in front of him slowly sobered up for the first time in decades and if his spirit wasn't broken by then Lambert would simply have to break his body. Bone by bone. The witchers of Kaer Morhen had taught him how to kill monsters, no matter what form they might've adopted and Lambert's swords were sharp and quickly drawn. Steel for humans. Silver for monsters.

The young wolf was no idiot. He knew his father's death, his revenge, wouldn't change much. His revenge wouldn't change the past, wouldn't give Lambert any closure about his Ma's sudden death, would never be able to soothe the ever burning fury inside his chest, the way he bared his teeth and snapped at anything and anyone that sparked his anger. Lambert didn't believe in a happy ending, that wasn't what his revenge was about. He had sworn on his Ma's grave that he would murder his father. Lambert had sworn he would never show him forgiveness when he was turned into a witcher's payment and dragged away by his hair. He had spent his entire childhood growing the darkness of his thoughts and was left with a horrible pitch black mass of intend. So he made his way across the continent towards the tiny farm he was born on with a single minded purpose.

He had spent his entire life training for the moment he'd meet his father eye to eye and yet nothing could have ever prepared him for the reality.

In every single one of his memories the old farmhouse had been in disarray. The roof had been leaky, the walls thin and worn and always seemed to be covered in dirt no matter how many times he'd seen his Ma scrub them clean. Their fields had been depressing at best, the meager earnings leaving them with empty stomachaches every winter and no matter how often his Ma begged for help, his father had always been too lazy or too drunk to properly care for their fields and animals. Him and his Ma worked day and night, while his father sat on the rotting porch and loudly cussed at them.

The farm in front of Lambert was not- It wasn't the farm he remembered. The house was well cared for. The roofing was properly fixed, the wooden porch rebuild. Not a single of the windows or shutters were broken, instead some of the window sills were decorated with flowers. The wood of the front door was even painted in a bright, happy color. The fields surrounding the farm were bursting with life. Thigh high corn, animal feed, vegetables, an apple tree growing fruit in the back.

Lambert's father- And there was no doubt it was his father, it was him. He hadn't noticed his son yet despite them standing only a couple of arm's length apart and, none the wiser, continued working in one of the corn fields. Lambert had seen enough drunken men in his lifetime to know that his father was completely sober. He worked slow and steady with a look of gentle concentration on his face Lambert had never seen on him before. In fact, Lambert had never seen him like this. Calm, working, his body strong as any farmer's, healthy. Lambert's father looked alive and well. In the far distance a group of children was happily playing tag. A woman was humming inside the house.

The possibility had never occurred to him. Lambert had spent years imagining what the reuniting with his father would be like. In his mind he'd always remained how Lambert remembered him. Drunk, angry, violent and full of hatred. The stranger in front of him was nothing like that, clearly having found a way to turn his life around and better himself, starting again with a new wife and children.

The wolf stood silent and unmoving, his expression like stone, when the man that once was his father finally turned and made eye contact with him. After the initial scare of having someone suddenly standing behind himself the man's eyes grew wide with disbelief. Not fear. Not anger. It was pure and simple doubt.

"Lambert? By the gods, it's you, isn't it?"

He stepped forward, reached out and grasped at the leather of Lambert's armor. "But- How is that possible? They told us- They told us all witchers were dead!" The wolf stood unmoving. "I thought I'd never see you again!" There was no malice behind his father's words, no anger, Only wild disbelief and- Regret. Pain.

"My gods, Lambert, I am so sorry. I am so sorry for what I've done." He spoke the truth. His regret was honest.

The joyous squealing of the children grew louder.

The wolf had sworn he'd never forgive.

He drew his sword.

Steel for humans and-

"I am here to kill a monster."

His father's shoulders slumped. There was no fear in his eyes, only regret. "Not- Not in front of the children. Please, Lambert. Not in front of your siblings."

Lambert had always known that his revenge wouldn't magically fix things, but he had always hoped to feel something. Anything.