This is GENUINE SERIOUS BUSINESS ANON HATE so you better take it seriously you Letho cosplayer bot you! You're just a moist sock and deserve all this hate for being way too funny and smart!!
Ooooh! Some 'serious' anon hate going on here XD This has been sat in my inbox for far too long because I was having too much fun laughing at everyone else's 'hate' and their responses then promptly forgot I hadn't replied. But long enough has passed now that I look foolish now rather than just super late to the party. I can live with that. And, as always, an ask gets a ficlet in reply. But an ask like this? It gets "rewarded" with dubious morals, questionable medical knowledge and some bittersweetness.
Choose a Different Path
Whatever it was that Tissaia had done to Cahir, it had left some permanent marks. At first it hadn't been obvious, the fainting spells and funny turns chalked up to being on the run, to sleepless nights, to not having enough to eat, to having lived through horrors beyond most people's imagination. It wasn't until Geralt took his ragtag group to Kaer Morhen that it became apparent more was at play than trauma and lack of physical care.
At first they thought things were getting better. The instances where Cahir's movements slowed to sluggish and clumsy before sinking to the ground unresponsive were fewer. He hadn't passed out at all in Kaer Morhen, even seemed to be able to smile again.
Eskel had a lot to do with the smiles. For reasons he wasn't going to question, Cahir had taken quite the shine to him. And Eskel was never going to reject affection, not even when Geralt glared at him while Cahir was slumped against his shoulder and softly snoring away. In a way Eskel found Geralt's near enough fatherly attitude endearing. He'd seen the way Cahir and Ciri bickered, teased and generally terrorised each other. But while Ciri was more like a niece, childish in her youth, Cahir had lost that attitude years ago. Not to mention that Cahir was the one who initiated the start of whatever it was between them.
Of course it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. Eskel had more than once watched as Cahir, for seemingly no reason, stumbled or slumped over, eyes glazed and unresponsive to touch. Each time he came back, he was upset, confused and sometimes defensive to the point of lashing out. Yet after a while he began reaching for Eskel for comfort, mumbled "what's happened" and "where am I" were tearfully asked into Eskel's chest. It was rare for Cahir to remember what had happened in the run up to such an episode, mind completely blank, not even the odd whisper of memory to help clue them in to the cause.
As quickly as they had fallen in love, found solace and comfort in each other, things were just as quick to falter. Cracks were appearing, Cahir was much more inclined to stay by the fire while Eske itched to be out of the keep. They clashed over whether the cold made old injuries hurt more, just because Eskel had more scars didn't mean his opinion on winters not actually making things worse had more weight to it than Cahir's experiences. Meanwhile, Eskel grew fearful of losing Cahir who was only a fragile human after all. They were doomed from the moment they met, Eskel had come to realise. If he didn't die first on the Path, Cahir was sure to succumb to old age eventually.
Arguments became more frequent and, with that, Cahir's dizzy spells increased too. It didn't take a genius to work out that stress was what set him off yet Eskel was powerless to protect him from it. Especially as he seemed to be the source of so much of it. He loved Cahir, he really did, but he didn't know what more he could do to prove it.
In the end he didn't have to. They were in their shared room but Cahir was pacing, throwing his belongings into a pile on the bed, not that there was much in the way of that.
"I can't do this," he seethed. "I'm not some child to coddle, not some pet to pamper. I love you but you're suffocating!"
Conflict had never been Eskel's strength. His bulk and general appearance meant that he looked imposing enough that few people picked fights with him and the few that did usually used their fists instead of words. Most considered him too much of a brute to be a worthy opponent in verbal sparring.
"But you're so young. And fragile!"
Whirling around, Cahir looked downright murderous. "Looks, as you well know, can be deceiving. I don't make decisions for you. And you don't make them for me."
"I don't though."
"You do!" Cahir yelled in frustration. "No training because it is cold. Should have a bit more food because I look like I needed it even though I said I was full. You put more wood on the fire because it was colder than what humans tend to like. And that was all just this morning!"
"I did it all for you!" Voice raising, Eskel ran a hand through his hair, ready to tear it out. "I love you and I want the best for you."
Suddenly Cahir deflated as he looked at Eskel with sad eyes. "Do you though? Or do you love and want the best for what you want me to be?"
"You! It's always been for you and your needs." Tone shifting, Eskel felt the argument slide into something beyond annoyance.
Sadness tinged the air as Cahir shook his head. "I can't do this. Sorry." Before Eskel could ask what he meant, Cahir held a hand up to silence him. "I'll move my things into a separate room. This is your home, don't feel you have to skulk around and avoid me. I won't make life difficult, I promise."
"This is it?"
"Yeah. I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted."
Just like that, Cahir walked out of the room. Eskel watched his back, rigid like that of a soldier going into battle. Except there was no battle, Cahir wasn't a soldier anymore. Lost and at a loss for what to do, Eskel followed a minute later. He couldn't be there when Cahir moved all his things, left Eskel's room how it had been before the winter.
Noises from the Great Hall drew him in. Desperate for a distraction, Eskel shuffled in, shoulders hunched. Lambert was kneeling on the ground, yelling at Geralt to get something soft while Ciri stared wide eyed. Cradled in Lambert's hands was Cahir's head, his body rigid as another of his spells wracked through him. It was worse than they had seen before but Geralt didn't seem overly worried. He trotted back with a folded throw.
"He hasn't had one like this in a while," he commented idly.
Uncertain whether he was allowed next to Cahir, Eskel kept his distance. He watched as Cahir was rolled onto his side as his muscles relaxed. Eyes which had been rolling slowly blinked and tried to focus, only tears were quick to blur his vision as Cahir came to. It broke Eskel's heart.
"Esk?" Cahir's voice was a wobbly croak as he blindly reached out.
Resolve to keep his distance breaking, Eskel sank to his knees next to Cahir and cradled him against his chest. After everything, Cahir still called for him.
The usual, teary question of "what happened?" was met with broad strokes across Cahir's back and the reassuring rumble of "you took a funny turn. You're okay now." Eskel couldn't help himself. "What do you remember?"
A head shake and a sad whine was the first response. "I don't- I don't know. We went to bed. But we're not there now. Where am I?"
Distressed sobs were buried into Eskel's soft shirt. His mind was spinning. Cahir didn't remember that morning. Didn't remember the final couple of straws that broke their relationship. Didn't remember breaking up with Eskel. If Eskel was a better man, he would have been honest. But he was only human, he saw a second chance at happiness. And this time he could probably get it right. As long as Cahir never found out, never remembered that morning.
"You're safe in Kaer Morhen. Vesemir is bringing you a warm, watered down cider. While you drink that I'll go make sure our bed is setup, okay?"
Slowly, Cahir untangled himself from Eskel's shirt. Wiping at his eyes, he nodded and accepted the drink Vesemir was holding out for him. Standing, Eskel didn't run but he hurried back to his room. Their room. Swiping everything off the bed, he made it look like they were in the middle of having a tidy, adding his own clothe to the pile with Cahir's. Bed ready, he raced back to the Great Hall where Cahir was bundled in the throw, empty tankard on the ground next to him.
"Come on, I'll get you back to bed, okay? Then we'll see how you're doing after a nap, yeah?"
Meekly, Cahir nodded and allowed himself to be picked up, feeling so much like a weak kitten in Eskel's arms.
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Bless for your Geralt whump, my eyes are sparkling! Your writing is really amazing
Nonnie, this has probably sat in my inbox for coming up to two years, I am so very sorry. If you're still in the fandom, I bring you an apology story of whump but, because of the way the brain gremlins sway, we're whumping Cahir today.
My Friend
Long story short, Kaer Morhen crumbled into dust, the Wolf School was no more. The stragglers and survivors who had been trying to find sanctuary there for the last century or so were left adrift. Options weren't exactly abundant and the Continent was a bit of a mess still. It was at Ciri's insistence that they headed south, to Nilfgaard in the hopes of maybe doing some good.
In a way, things were easier than anticipated. Ciri was welcomed by Emhyr, who was shrewd enough to recognise the potential power in having some witchers call Nilfgaard their home. Though Lambert went gallivanting off after the Cats' caravan, Geralt, Eskel and Vesemir stayed put with Ciri.
As it so happened, Emhyr took great interest in Vesemir's experience and Geralt had also intrigued him. It left Ciri free to explore and she took Eskel along. They didn't do anything as crass and voyeuristic as go into the dungeons. Ciri had no interest in seeing others suffer for their misdeed. Instead, she and Eskel took passages and random doors which led deeper and deeper into the mysteries of the large building. In the end they found themselves in a dimly lit, dank corridor that stank of misery and mould. Noses crinkling, they pressed on, curious about whether they were about to find some long forgotten, hidden cellar where they could carve out a secret space of their own. It was no such thing. Stepping into the room at the end of the corridor, Ciri almost wished she had never found it.
In the corner was a skeltal waif who looked as though he should have been dead some time ago. Yet he was breathing, squinting up at them as they stepped in. What Ciri didn't expect was for the man to panic.
"Princess? You can't be here!" The words were no more than a low croak. "He can't find you. Please. Run!"
Rather than listen, Ciri stepped closer. The rag that had possibly once been a shirt on the man revealed a gnarly scar, the wound had probably near enough split him in two from collarbone to the soft hollow of his belly. Magic had to have been involved in his survival.
"It's okay," Ciri tried to sooth but it seemed to fall on deaf ears as the man shook his head.
"No. Emhyr. He's your father. He's evil."
"I know."
That seemed to take the man by surprise and he sagged, eyes turning sad. "You know. No. He lies." Eyes turned to Eskel and rather than fear there seemed to be relief. "Witcher, help her get away please. Get her out of this web before it's too late."
Curiosity piqued, Eskel approached. Not once did the man flinch or show any sign of fear. As he crouched down, he offered a small smile. "In all the time I've known Ciri, she has only ever done what she's wanted."
"Please." The plea was so broken, so desperate, Eskel didn't have the heart to interrupt. "I have a good friend who was looking for her. A good man, Geralt of Rivia. Do you know him? He'll help."
The pieces clicked into place then as to who the man one. Eskel had heard enough stories, as had Ciri over the years.
"Cahir?"
For a moment silence hung in the air before Cahir sagged. "Nobody's called me that in so long."
"Okay, we're getting you out of here."
Picking Cahir up was almost laughably easy. He weighed near enough nothing as he was cradled against Eskel's chest. Torch in hand, Ciri led the way, trying to keep to the less populated passages to avoid questions for as long as possible.
In the end Cahir was gently deposited in Eskel's bed. Neither Eskel nor Ciri mentioned how he seemed reluctant to let go of Eskel, lingering in the warmth of any scrap of touch he could.
Nothing could remain a secret for long. Emhyr was outraged that his decisions were overruled. But, to nobody's real surprise, Ciri was a force of her own and, backed up as she was by her witcher family, got her own way. Cahir was free.
The curious part was Geralt's recation in all that had happened. Cahir had called him his friend. He had nodded in ackowledgement, offered a soft, "I didn't know he'd survived," and left it at that. There was no urge to see him, no exclamation of relief that his friend was alive. It was like when Lambert had told them that Aiden was alive. While knowing Lambert's misery was resolved, there was no mad dash to see him, they weren't friends after all.
When Cahir was a little more coherent and less lost in the depths of survival, he had smiled at Eskel.
"You must be one of Geralt's brothers." Which made no sense, Eskel's medallion was tucked under a shirt for a change, there was no way Cahir could have seen it. All the same, he had glanced down to try and see it, while a hand reached to fiddle with it. It only made Cahir laugh a little. "You two look like brothers. But you're more approachable."
If Eskel didn't know any better, he would have thought Cahir was flirting. Which, maybe he was. The thing was, it was difficult to tell how much Cahir was simply basking in the offer of kind company and how much he was intentionally seeking out contact. Such conundrums were rather quickly resolved, given how he and Ciri tended to mutter and giggle, heads bowed together in secret. And the blush that crept over Cahir's cheeks whenever Eskel interrupted those chats by announcing his presence. While he tried not to eavesdrop, it was difficult not to overhear snippets despite his best efforts. Murmurs like "I know he's your uncle but oh fuck me, I'm sorry" which was countered with "he'd snap you like a twig, at least get better before you try and jump him" coupled with "do you think I should cut my hair?" and Ciri's reply of "let me try and tame it for you, sickbed sexy is the height of fashion at the moment" made Eskel work hard to hide his smile. Especially when he saw the result of Ciri's efforts.
"You look nice," he offered when he saw Cahir's new hairstyle. Maybe the ribbon was a bit much but Eskel wasn't going to say that. Instead he enjoyed the pleased, flustered expression on Cahir's face. It didn't take long for Cahir to end up snuggled in his lap, forehead tucked against Eskel's neck and fingers tracing the lines of his palm. Very quickly it became the default position they could be found in, Cahir protectively wrapped in Eskel's lap. Not seeing Eskel's face also made it easier for Cahir to open up. He said very little about Emhyr and his time in the dungeons, nor did he speak much about his time with Nilfgaard. Then again, the scars and nightmares more than spoke enough for him. Instead there were stories of the Hansa, of friends, of camaraderie.
"It was nice," Cahir said softly, "to have so much trust. They were my friends."
Yet Geralt still hadn't been to see him. Eskel couldn't wrap his head around it. The fondness with which Cahir talked about the ragtag group, how they bickered, had messy fights (and how Milva once broke him and Geralt up), it all sounded almost homely.
"Would you like Geralt to come and see you?" Eskel finally asked. He couldn't imagine having a friend so close and recuperating from something so awful and not want to see them.
"That's his choice." Sadness tinged Cahir's voice.
"But-" Eskel was at a loss. He tried again, "You said he's one of your closest friends? Someone you'd trust and someone you've literally almost died for."
Finally, Cahir looked up at him, the sadness wasn't just in his voice, hus whole face was warped with it. "I did say that and I did do that. But I only ever said that he was my friend. I don't think I was ever his."
The bakery wasn't new to the area but Jaskier was constantly surprised by the variety of people who came and went. There were a couple of regulars but fewer than he'd anticipated. Some people he wished would come back, others he was glad to see go. However, the two beefcakes that just walked in, Jaskier prayed to any listening deity that they would be back repeatedly.
"What can I get you gents?" Jaskier asked with his most winning smile.
Eyes like molten honey scanned the selection and Jaskier wanted to tuck the strands of white hair behind the man's ear to see his face better.
"Cookies. The personalised ones."
"A fine choice," Jaskier trilled and pulled the tray out. "I can put any name or message on there for you. Even a phone number, if you want to give it to a special someone."
So maybe Jaskier was flirting and hoping for a number from the man for himself. But it seemed to fall on deaf ears.
"Write Eskel on one," the man said, carefully spelling out the name while the other smiled at him indulgently. It had Jaskier's heart fluttering at the sweetness.
"And what shall I put on yours?"
"You should put a heart on either side of Geralt's name," Eskel piped up with a snicker. He got an elbow in the ribs for it but didn't seem to mind.
Obliging, Jaskier did as told, curling the most perfect hearts he could onto the cookie. Done, he popped them in a box and put them on the counter by the till. "Anything else I can do for you today? Does your, uh, friend want anything?"
Geralt's eyes widened before saying, "He's my boyfriend."
Of course he was, the two looked beautiful together and Jaskier sighed internally. However, he couldn't help but note the look horror on Eskel's face. Hopefully he hadn't accidentally helped Geralt out himself and his boyfriend when they were trying to keep things a secret.
"Well, good for you both!" Jaskier mustered up a smile and nodded at the small rainbow flags by the till. "I sometimes do flag cookies if the mood strikes. Usually on a Friday."
The transaction was processed in silence and at speeds. Jaskier could only watch as the two bundled out of his bakery and, as soon as the door closed behind them, Eskel was asking Geralt something, face torn between despair and entertainment. If Jaskier could trust his lip reading, he could have sworn Geralt had said something along the lines of "I panicked, okay?".
Somehow, Geralt and Eskel became semi-regulars. They didn't pop in on a specific day each week but they were bound to appear either independently or with each other. Each time they did, Jaskier watched them with heart eyes. Eskel was broad, almost apologetically large but kind and gentle. He was quite the sight to behold but Jaskier had an even softer spot for Geralt who really looked like he needed to relax. So, whenever he came by alone, Jaskier slipped an extra cookie in his bag or asked him to be a taster for a newer cupcake flavour.
It was all going well until Geralt came into the bakery with someone new. Another well-built, handsome man but with a sharp edge to his energy. He made a beeline for the display case by the till.
"Please don't knock on the glass, it scares the muffins," Jaskier said by way of greeting and got a bark of a laugh.
"I'll be careful, don't you worry. It's Geralt you need to keep an eye on."
Which Jaskier diligently was. Well, he was checking out Geralt's backside. Tearing his gaze away, he cleared his throat.
"I'm glad Geralt has brought a friend along today."
"Friend?" The man stood up straight with a hand over his heart. "Geralt, what have you been telling people? I'm his boyfriend!"
Which just didn't compute. Geralt had called Eskel his boyfriend. The mild panic of figuring it out was interrupted by a low growl of "Lambert" that was both a threat and fond exasperation.
"What might people think?" Lambert cried out dramatically. "Are you ashamed of our love?"
A hand clamped on the back of Lambert's neck and Geralt stood next to him, not letting go. "Jaskier, a couple of dark chocolate and ginger cookies please and a tray of lemon muffins."
Hastily putting everything in boxes, Jaskier tried not to let his imagination go too wild. Maybe Eskel was Geralt's boyfriend but so was Lambert. It wasn't unheard of really. It gave hope to Jaskier that they might take a liking to him and invite him home for a wild night. He could only watch as they walked out and the first thing Geralt did was cuff Lambert on the back of the head.
Things only got more weird. The next time Geralt was in, he was trailed by another man. Lithe, seemingly on the edge of bursting out giggling and he made a beeline for the counter.
"You're Jaskier, right?" The man held a hand out. "I've heard so much about you! I'm Aiden, Geralt's boyfriend."
Face schooled into something carefully blank, Jaskier nodded. "A pleasure to meet you."
"I think the pleasure is all mine." The wink was followed by a blatant once over and a low whistle. In the background Geralt closed his eyes, jaw twitching as he visibly counted backwards from ten. This time Aiden was the one who asked for a dozen cookies with an array of pride flags on them, two of each, pan, bi, ace, nonbinary, trans and demi. Oddly, the polyamory one Jaskier had started making since meeting Geralt and his boyfriends was left unrequested. The two left and Jaskier rubbed at his temple, trying to figure out just how four incredibly attractive men had found happiness with each other.
Only a week later Jaskier was waiting for a customer to make up his mind. He was the most silently intense man Jaskier had ever encountered and he really wished he'd hurry up and leave. Alas, he was taking so long, looking over everything in the display cases like the choice was of the utmost importance.
"I'll take two cherry and almond slices."
Cutting said cake, Jaskier was relieved and hoped that once the man had gone, he'd not be back again. The sound of the bell above the door had him looking up and Geralt stood there, alone for once. However, he eyed the man by the counter with a closed off expression which remained as the man took his slices and walked past Geralt, shoulders brushing.
"Geralt.
"Cahir."
It was awkward and Jaskier tried not to pry. But curiosity won out. "Another boyfriend."
From the door Cahir laughed. "He wishes."
For a moment Geralt stared at the ground before squaring his shoulders. "They're not my boyfriend. They're dating Eskel."
Immediately Jaskier adjusted his internal monologue to reflect the new pronouns. Though what Geralt just said made no difference.
"Are they a paramour to your polycule?"
"No." Geralt shook his head firmly. "Cahir and Eskel are a couple. So are Lambert and Aiden."
Not understanding, Jaskier wet his lips and cast a glance around. His eyes landed on a familiar group on the sidewalk outside the shop, making no attempt to disguise the fact they were all watching. Cahir and Eskel were leaning shoulder to shoulder as they munched on their cake. Meanwhile Lambert leered and Aiden sent him a thumbs up.
"I'm not sure I understand," Jaskier said. "I thought you said they were all your boyfriends."
Feet shuffling on the spot, Geralt cleared his throat. "Lambert and Eskel are my brothers." Which made even less sense and Jaaskier hummed, desperately trying to understand without asking whether Geralt really just admit to being in an incestuous relationship.
"I'm not dating any of them."
But you said-"
"I panicked." Geralt was watching Jaskier intently. "You were cute, flirty and I panicked. I wanted to ask you out."
A giggle bubbled out of Jaskier. He couldn't quite wrap his head around it but that wasn't a problem in the moment.
"Well then, how about a personalised cookie, on the house?" He grabbed Geralt's favourite and, with a flourish, wrote his own name and number on it, dotting the 'i' with a heart. Handing it over, he smiled. "I told you these cookies were great for phone numbers."
Outside a cheer went up as Geralt's family decided that the outing had been a success.
It all started with something as simple as Lambert and Aiden meeting in a club. The music was blaring, thumping out a beat and Aiden was living his best life. It got even better when he spotted an absolute hunk of a man dancing truly awfully but seemingly not caring. Of course Aiden had to approach, was delighted that the man was willing to dance with him. And, somehow, Aiden had never had a better time than when saying 'fuck it' to the social rules of the club and dancing like he'd always wanted to. It was thirsty work.
"Drink?" He yelled over the beat and mimicked the motion for clarity. They made their way to the bar and Aiden grinned. "My treat. I'm Aiden."
"Lambert!"
Well, Lambert was just the thing Aiden had always dreamed of with full lips, a resting bitchface and a lack of care about appearances if his dancing was anything to go by. All in all, it was perfect. Initiating conversation was a bit difficult but Aiden wanted to try.
"I'm a fitness trainer. What do you do?"
"What?"
Pointing at his chest, Aiden yelled, "trainer" before pointing at Lambert.
The confusion morphed into understanding. For a moment Lambert pursed his lips before shrugging and yelling back "lobster".
Now Aiden knew they were in a noisy setting and his audio processing was a bit funky on a good day. Still, he could have sworn Lambert had said he was a lobster. To be sure he yelled back "lobster?" and made the claw motion with his hands. Lambert nodded. Fine. A bit weird but maybe Lambert was a mascot? Or a non-furry furry. Either way, Aiden could live with that. He took Lambert home that night and had the best sex of his life.
Wanting to show some support to his maybe boyfriend, Aiden suggested a date somewhere he thought Lambert would appreciate. The aquarium. Before he even mentioned it to Lambert, Aiden had called up the place and made sure there were indeed lobsters there. He could be supportive, even if he didn't understand.
The date was a resounding success if measured by sexual gratification. Sure, they almost got kicked out of the aquarium because Lambert decided to try and blow Aiden in the corner of the eel section. It didn't happen for two reasons. Firstly, before Lambert even got further than dropping to his knees, more people came by. Secondly, eels were creepy as fuck and Aiden didn't think he could get off with those creatures staring at him. So caught up in these issues, Aiden didn't even question how Lambert had a knack for avoiding cameras and figuring out their blind spots. It certainly was a skill he exhibited over and over again.
One thing that did strike Aiden as odd was the time Lambert ordered lobster at the restaurant. To him it would have felt like cannibalism. Because at this point Aiden was certain that Lambert wasn't a lobster mascot for work. In fact, other than calling himself a lobster, Aiden had no clue what his boyfriend actually did. Delving into the depths of the internet for answers didn't help either. So Lambert was possibly an unemployed non-furry furry lobster enthusiast. Though he always insisted on paying, especially if it was his suggestion. Sometimes he picked rundown, out of the way drinking holes. Other times Aiden was treated to the finest dining experiences he could have ever imagined.
"So-" Lambert was bouncing on his toes, hands jammed into his pocket as he stood outside Aiden's door, "-we've been seeing each other for six months. My family's nagging me about meeting you."
A grin was forming on Aiden's lips. "Are you asking me to meet your family?"
"Technically they're the ones asking. I'm just the reluctant messenger. I'm quite happy with you being just mine."
Meeting the family was quite the experience. Aiden had never felt smaller than when he met Eskel, Geralt and Vesemir. Yennefer had an aura about her that made him feel tiny while Jaskier's personality was so big he eclipsed everyone. Then there were others, Ciri, Letho, Guxart, Gaetan, Fringilla to name a few. The most normal of the lot seemed to be Cahir who looked about as excited to be there as a fly in a freshly cleaned bathroom. Occasionally he muttered something to Eskel about being owed when he is proven right. Pay rises and holidays and better gear. Whatever that meant.
Aiden's world exploded. Literally. There was smoke, shouts and what sounded suspiciously like gunfire. It was all so disorienting, especially when the bulk of Letho swept Aiden up and deposited him behind an upturned table, nodding to Cahir who was bodily protecting Ciri. And had a gun in his hand. Aiden blinked. He must have had too much to drink. His ears were ringing. He was seeing things. Maybe he fell and hit his head because he wasn't seeing the family he just met in a full-blown gunfight with intruders who blew a hole in the side of the mansion they were meeting in. Letting out a hysterical little giggle, Aiden tried to wrap his head around the fact they were in a mansion, that Lambert's family was rich enough for such a thing.
"Don't worry, you'll live," Letho rumbled as if Aiden was some scared kitten. He wasn't. He was just losing his marbles.
As suddenly as everything went tits up, silence reigned just as quickly. Someone coughed in the smoke and Aiden craned his neck. The crunch of broken glass was accompanied by footsteps approaching their table.
"You okay?"
It was Lambert peering over the table, looking dishevelled, a cut on his forehead bleeding and skin grimy from the smoke. In the background Eskel seemed to be organising everyone, checking over injuries while Fringilla was on the phone and demanding clean-up. As soon as Geralt was over, Ciri was launching herself at him and Cahir stood from his crouch with a furious scowl.
"I fucking told you," he growled at Vesemir who stared flatly at him. Before anything more could transpire, Eskel snagged Cahir by the wrist and hauled him to kiss him into silence.
Nobody looked worried about the fact that some unnamed group just blew a hole in the wall and tried to...what...kill them all? Standing, Aiden saw bodies and blood strewn around the floor and he let out a strained giggle.
"I'm better than those guys." For some reason Lambert looked so proud as he laughed. But Aiden wasn't done just yet. "So what the fuck just happened?"
Once again Eskel shoved his tongue down Cahir's throat before the man could spew whatever he looked desperate to spout. It left Lambert to shrug.
"Just the usual. You know."
"No?"
"Babe," Lambert stepped closer and cupped Aiden's cheek with a bloodied hand, "this is my life, I told you. This is part and parcel of my job."
No he didn't. Lambert was a lobster. No matter what that meant, he'd said so himself. Lobster.
"No you didn't? How is this part of being a lobster?"
They stared at each other, Lambert's mouth moving silently before finally finding his voice. "M. As in mobster."
In the background there was a growl of "if you open your mouth I am shoving my cock in there to keep you quiet, you know I don't care about an audience" from Eskel but Aiden ignored it as his world started to spin. Mobster. As in gun toting, law breaking, dangerous mobster. A high pitched laugh escaped him.
"I thought you took it a little too well," Lambert sighed, hand falling away and taking a step back.
Fear made Aiden's stomach tighten. He knew Lambert's identity, his family's identities. That was a liability and mobster families didn't take kindly to those. Not to mention that Lambert was still Lambert. Just not a lobster.
"It's a bit of a shock to the system," Aiden hurried to say, trying to step over the table and stumbling a little. A strong hand gripped him and he nodded his thanks to Letho before staggering after Lambert. "But that's just how life goes. At least you're not a lobster, right?"
There was a small grin on Lambert's lips and he let Aiden take his hand, linking their fingers. Teasing, he asked, "So what exactly is a lobster?"
"I have no clue." A laugh was bubbling up in Aiden's throat. "I figured you were a fur free furry or something."
A laugh went up at that and Aiden ducked his head, a little flustered. Another set of feet approached them and he stared at the blood (and possibly more but he didn't want to think about that too much) splattered shoes. The hand squeezing his shoulder had him looking up at Vesemir who had a small smile of his own hiding under his moustache.
Time travelling is kind of fun but Ciri kept going back home. Home being Kaer Morhen with her odd little family which just seemed to keep expanding. The best part though was that she could bring back ideas and objects from her travels. Thankfully Lambert had been game to build it even if he didn't quite understand what he was making. But, by the end of the project, there was a new kind of door in Kaer Morhen. They gather around in front of it and Ciri smirked, tugging Yennefer to sit down and watch with her while the others inspected the revolving door. It went something like this:
They approached as a group, giving the partition a nudge. It moved, Aiden jumped back with a hiss and Jaskier cackled. He stepped forward but Geralt stopped him, not trusting the door. Like the noble-hearted idiot he was, Geralt stepped into it and gave it a push. Slowly, almost painfully slowly, he did a loop in the door before stepping out with a nod of approval.
Instantly Lambert was dashing in, followed by Aiden. There was a lot of yelling of "wait up" and "are you in here?" as the door began to speed up. Ciri leaned against Yennefer's shoulder with a happy sigh.
"I knew they'd love it."
The door was moving at a rather inhuman speed and Eskel decided it was time to intervene as Aiden and Lambert flashed by, still hollering at each other. It took a bit of careful timing but he leapt into one of the empty slots. Suddenly, there was a veritable tornado of yelling witchers. Aiden was giggling, Lambert occasionally yelping while Eskel valiantly tried to keep up while yelling at the others to slow down. Not that they listened, even when Eskel begged to be let out. He couldn't get out of the revolving door, trapped by the madness of the other two.
Keen not to be left out, Jaskier slipped from Geralt's side and took the final slot, letting out a loud whoop as he joined in. It was chaos and Ciri smiled. It was exactly how she thought it would pan out.
Without any warning Aiden barrelled out of the door, staggering as the dizziness overwhelmed him. Not a moment later Lambert slammed into him, the two of them collapsing into a laughing pile. As the door slowed, Jaskier grew bored and stepped out with a wide grin, declaring "that was fun". Eventually Eskel tumbled out, taking a few wonky steps before crashing down with a moan, hand over his eyes.
"Why don't you try it?" Jaskier asked Cahir who had watched the whole thing with mild horror.
"I know when I see certain death," he said and settled next to Eskel, rubbing his shoulder in sympathy.
All of this had been observed by Vesemir in silence. Once the spectacle was over he got up and left without another word. However, in the dead of the night when everyone else was sleeping, the sound of the revolving door could be heard trundling around and soft, amused huff rang through the empty halls.
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Witchers didn't have daemons, that was a known fact. They were terrifying in their solitude, unfeeling and unaffected. Monsters made to fight monsters, they didn't need part of their soul for that. What the general public didn't know though was that the daemons weren't imprisoned somewhere, nor were they dead. The mages had figured out a way to separate daemon from child and force it into the most unnatural of shapes, another human. It meant two Witchers from a single child and the best part was, neither child nor daemon felt any connection to their counterpart once the process of the trials was complete.
In an effort to make sure full separation was certain and not even a sentimental link remained, daemons and children were separated and trained in different schools. Lambert had arrived at Kaer Morhen, still tripping over unfamiliar human feet and seething at being separated from his human. Over the years he tried to remember his human but, like all Witchers, they were given new names when they got their medallions and Lambert didn't think Luca still went by that name, nor would he be the scrawny kid Lambert remembered him as.
Whenever Lambert met another Witcher, he couldn't help but wonder whether it was his Luca that he was meeting. Though he wanted to believe that there would be a spark some kind of recognition there. He had been a little relieved when he met Letho and there was nothing there between them.
Of course Geralt had to be the first one to find his daemon. The smug bastard had found a bard who told people his daemon was a flea which was just like him; unnoticeable until he causes a nuisance. Most pitied him but Geralt had seen through the charade. He watched the bard without a daemon, curiosity and caution allowed him to permit Jaskier to tag along. The story tumbled out eventually.
"My great grandparents bought me. I was some kind of freak novelty some merchants were selling."
That was all Geralt had needed to hear and he was all but dragging Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in the winter. Nobody had expected Vesemir's face to close off completely.
"I remember you!" Jaskier said in way of greeting. "You were a dick."
"Julian." The reply was terse and tight.
Lambert got a front view seat to seeing Geralt's face flit through more emotions in one second than he usually did in a whole year. The embrace was tight, Geralt's nose buried in Jaskier's hair.
Jealousy trickled through Lambert's veins. For all he knew, his human was already a dead Witcher. There was no link between Witcher and daemon, the trials severed it all completely so when one died, the other didn't even notice, let alone die from it.
"Why isn't he a Witcher?" Eskel asked, eyes glued to the happy reunion.
"Kaer Morhen needed money. Your cohort, the daemons didn't become Witchers. We sold them to the highest bigger."
Lambert didn't expect Eskel to punch Vesemir across the jaw but he was sure as shit glad he saw it. It meant he didn't need to do it on behalf of Geralt and Eskel. For the first time though, Lambert had an optimistic thought.
"It might mean he's living a happy life somewhere. I mean, look at Jaskier. He's had it better than us."
That was a topic that came up repeatedly over the next few weeks. They dreamed up all sorts of fancy lives Eskel's daemon could have lived, the wonders he would have seen. Through it all, Lambert bitterly wished his daemon could have been anything but a Witcher. Alas, Vesemir rapidly disillusioned him from that idea.
"He's become a Witcher, probably dead by now. And if you met him, you'd probably wish he was."
"Is that so?" Lambert drawled, emptying his tankard with a disappointed sigh. He couldn't believe it was empty again.
"You suffered the same shit fate I did. Your human was trained by Cats. Guxart turned into an utter dick."
The words were muttered darkly and Lambert tried not to take it to heart how much hatred Vesemir oozed. It made him all that much more determined to not go the same way as the bitter old man. Instead, he turned to Geralt with a leer. "So, is it gay or is it masturbation to want to get off with your own daemon?"
To say the table erupted in uproar was an understatement. Geralt was scowling somewhat fierce, arms crossed over his chest in protest. It only egged Lambert on further.
"I think it's incest," he declared with a shit eating grin. "Technically it's part of your family because you have the same parents."
"It's masturbation at most." Geralt was growling and glowering. "Because the daemon was still part of you."
Through it all, Eskel stayed rather quiet. It was only when the other two looked to him for opinion that he leaned forward, propping himself up on the table with a serious crease to his brows.
"I think-" the words were low and measured, "-that as long as everyone involved consents, it's fucking hot is what it is."
"The only thing it is," Vesemir finally butted in, "is a disaster waiting to happen. You don't want to meet your counterparts. Trust me."
Except that only made Lambert all the more keen. He wanted to both prove Vesemir wrong and also have what Geralt and Jaskier seemed to be hurtling towards. So, come spring, he set out with the intent of fulfilling one contract only. It was one that he would pay himself for in emotional fulfilment. He was going to find every Cat he could until he found Luca.
He met Gaetan along his travels who laughed in his face and said he was much more into snakes than wolves. That was an encounter Lambert was more than eager to cut short because he did not want to think about how Letho and Gaetan were oddly complementary. It was also another jolt of bitter jealousy, another Witcher and daemon had been reunited while he was still out there looking for his own. Assuming Luca had survived.
Meeting Guxart was a bit of an accident and Lambert wished he'd not encountered the old Cat. He growled and hissed about his stupid daemon who would probably have turned into a useless pigeon if left alone. There was obviously no love lost between them and Lambert desperately hoped he wasn't going to have the same fate.
Third time lucky, as the saying went. Lambert had trailed the new Cat for a few days, learning his habits and watching him work. There was no ounce of recognition or familiarity. But then again, the last time Lambert saw Luca, they were being dragged away from each other, foreign hands on his rapidly shifting body so his eyes could barely adjust enough to see the screaming, tear filled face of his human. It was quite possibly the worst last image he could have had of Luca.
Satisfied that the Cat wasn't someone Lambert wouldn't want to associate with, he approached in the evening when the campfire was still bright but slowly settling.
"I was wondering when my shadow would make himself known," the Cat said easily enough, barely glancing up from where he was whittling something.
The last two times Lambert had tried to be careful with exploring the idea of the Cat Witcher being his human. He was tired and cut straight to the point.
"Luca?"
By the fire the man froze. It was only luck that meant Lambert could hear the shuddering exhales of someone trying to keep up the façade of calm and collected. Finally, the man set his carving aside and stood with an easy smile that felt like a thousand lies.
"I go by Aiden." It wasn't a reply and Lambert knew it.
"I don't remember my name," he admitted softly, desperately hoping he wasn't about to make an utter tit of himself. "People call me Lambert. But I'm looking for my Luca."
He didn't expect to suddenly have an armful of Witcher clinging to him like their very lives depended on it.
"It's really you!" Aiden sounded close to tears. "You never did have a single name, usually going by Idiot, Pain In The Butt, Menace and so many other equally flattering names."
"Guess that never changed," Lambert laughed wetly. He held Aiden close, wishing he could feel as he used to when they were connected. "We have a lot of catching up to do."
It was just that start of something Lambert never thought he'd have. Easy companionship, shared disdain for the whole Witcher thing, stories upon stories of contracts gone well, gone wrong, or just plain gone. By the time winter rolled round, Lambert was firmly of the opinion that he and Aiden would travel together, fuck the Path and all the teachings about it being lonely. If Geralt could have his bard then they sure as hell could have each other.
Getting to Kaer Morhen, Lambert gleefully had an arm slung around Aiden's shoulder, introducing him to the rest of his family. He especially delighted in the flaring of Vesemir's nostrils as he took in the situation.
"Cats and Wolves don't mix. You of all people should know that."
"And you should know it's my life's mission to prove you wrong, old man," Lambert shot back.
Perhaps the most curious part of the whole winter was that Geralt was already back with not one, but two guests. Jaskier was a known quantity and Lambert greeted him warmly. The other though was a near silent man who watched them through eyes that looked way too old for his body.
"This is Cahir," Geralt said when the man didn't even introduce himself. "We'd heard rumours of a Nilfgaardian without a daemon and went to investigate."
"Not a Nilfgaardian," Cahir grumbled with a half-hearted glare.
It took Lambert a moment to figure out just why Geralt would bring such a man back before his eyes widened in delighted realisation.
"You think that-"
"Mhm."
That was the extent of their conversation because Lambert was cackling in delight. He looked Cahir over with a newfound interest. Young, like Jaskier but so very different in behaviour. As much as they'd wondered about Eskel's daemon's fate, this wasn't one they'd predicted.
Three days later Eskel was leading Scorpion into Kaer Morhen's courtyard. Lambert and Aiden were all but bouncing with excitement, not wanting to miss the moment Eskel met his daemon. In their opinion Geralt was drawing things out and making it less fun by not having them all meet in the stables. Instead, Eskel was allowed to venture into the kitchen in the company of Lambert and Aiden who were vibrating in anticipation.
"Eskel," Geralt greeted him with a warm hug. Jaskier and Cahir were behind him, even Vesemir had ventured out to see what the outcome would be. "It's good to have you home. Allow me to introduce you to Cahir."
The two looked at each other with guarded gazes and Eskel gave a terse nod. It was as anticlimactic as fuck. No recognition, not interest, nothing. Just a slow once over which, if Lambert had thought about it, was pretty much a mirror image of each other, equally considering and closed off.
Despondent, he dragged Aiden off, helping lay the table for a shared meal. Vesemir was quick to follow, there was no way to tell whether he was disappointed or relieved by the lack of drama. Geralt and Jaskier wandered out, oddly deflated. Not two seconds later there was an almighty crash from the kitchen and they were all racing back. Only to turn right around and flee after a glimpse of Cahir pinning Eskel to a wall and kissing him like Eskel was the last gasp of air for a drowning man.
"So, are they?" Jaskier asked, glancing towards the kitchen. Something else crashed and thumped but it was best not to investigate.
After a moment it was Vesemir who tiredly said, "Does it matter? It doesn't seem like they much care."
All in all, Lambert didn't think he cared either. Cahir and Eskel seemed happy enough in their new acquaintanceship, trying to figure out their past could wait, if they even wanted to explore it. Though Lambert had a hard time imagining Cahir as a goat. Over the years he'd heard Eskel lament enough about how his daemon preferred to take the form of a goat.
Regret came the next morning at breakfast when Eskel and Cahir appeared at the table, seemingly indifferent. If the rest of them hadn't see the two almost violently making out in the kitchen before disappearing to a bedroom, they wouldn't have guessed anything had gone on between them.
"Hey Geralt," Eskel called, face passive. "You know the difference between a goldfish and a mountain goat?"
"A mountain goat could live in Kaer Morhen but a goldfish couldn't?"
Eskel rolled his eyes. "No, a goldfish mucks around a fountain."
"And a mountain goat fucks around a mountain," Cahir finished the joke. He and Eskel high fived without looking at each other. Lambert only smacked his head on the table when Cahir continued, "And I am no goldfish."
I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for you and your writing. In times where I feel bad, both you and your writing are always there to comfort me. I truly thank you for that.
(Sorry for how dark this is about to get. Bit of a TW and TMI, I apologise. You don't have to read this bit if you don't want to or are uncomfortable)
My sheep Speckles passed in my arms this morning, and as you can guess, it's been tears, pain, and guilt. But you and your writing have lessened that pain as to where I feel something other than sorrow. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for being you. Thank you for writing.
Nonnie, I am so sorry for your loss. It sounds like Speckles meant a huge deal to you and life without them is tough right now. I can only hope that, with time, you'll be able to remember all the good bits of having Speckles in your life and look back on those memories fondly. If you ever want to share stories of Speckles or need a willing listening ear, my DMs are open.
It humbles me to no end that my writing has given you such comfort. And I can only hope that in continues to do so, offering a moment of reprieve, a distraction when you need it. Here's another little fic to try and help take your mind off things.
To Be Human
Winter and Kaer Morhen meant that the witchers who resided there could be themselves without the pressure of society. As Cahir followed Geralt up the path to the old keep, he couldn't help but wonder what that meant. Maybe there were less palatable traits that witchers held at bay in public. Perhaps they liked their meat raw or liked to scratch behind their ears with their feet rather than hands. Or, more sensibly, they could actually express their emotions, unleash their full strength and have opinions while being treated like equals. Either way, Cahir was just looking forward to a bit of stability in life, a bit of peace.
For the first two days it seemed like Cahir had been right. Though he had spent the majority of the first day crashed out on a straw stuffed sack that could almost be called a mattress. That evening he was collected by Eskel, inviting him to join dinner. It was a curious affair, part chaotic family reunion, part feast. Cahir could only marvel at how much food each witcher was working his way through. He and Jaskier were a little more restrained. Looking at the other four, Cahir had to wonder whether they spent the year half starved. It made his heart clench.
The odd thing was, Cahir was enveloped into the folds of the strange family. He was treated no different to any of the others, given a sword and the opportunity to train, delegated his own set of chores. Eskel seemed especially keen to spend time with him and Cahir couldn't deny that he was both flattered and very much returning the interest.
After a hard day of carrying buckets and sacks for repairs, Cahir fell into bed, not even thinking about dinner. Come morning he woke up late and found he'd missed breakfast but that was okay. There was a wonderfully large pot already bubbling away. By the time evening rolled round and Eskel appeared to invite him down, Cahir was famished. Once again the witchers ate more than Cahir had seen anyone consume in one sitting before. It was impressive but Cahir was no slouch either. He all but gorged himself after having missed a couple of meals. That night he slept like a log and he woke up refreshed in the morning. Ambling down to halls, Cahir was surprised to find it empty. Instead, he followed the sounds of training to the courtyard where the others were already playing around with swords and signs. Perhaps they trained before breakfast. So Cahir joined in with a grin.
Alas, after training they turned to chores. Cahir got to muck out the stables. It wasn't pleasant but he preferred it to hefting rocks around for repairs. Muscle ache wasn't something he'd had in a while but between the heavy manual labour and training, he was harshly reminded that it was very much a thing. The broom in his hands pressed on newly formed blisters. Despite being used to fighting, Cahir had grown accustomed to Nilgaardian swords. The ones witchers used were weighted differently and the grip sat just slightly wrong in his palms. So the callouses on Cahir's palms and fingers were useless, the new swords pressed and chafed the more sensitive parts and brought blisters to the surface. It made mucking out the stables a panful affair but he gritted his teeth. None of the others complained and he'd been taught better than to draw attention to weakness. Life in the army had prepared him for dealing with discomfort and knowing his place. Sometimes Cahir was even grateful for it.
It was mid-afternoon by the time Cahir was done with his chores. His stomach rumbled and his lips were dry. Hopefully they would have an early dinner. In the army food was served when it was ready. Snacks and the like were a rare treat that was bought by individuals when they had the money and access. Whether it was shared with friends was a whole different matter, and Cahir knew better than to ask. Still, when he saw Jaskier happily munching on some dried fruits, Cahir was sorely tempted. But no, he couldn't do that. Dinner would be soon anyway.
Only, dinner wasn't soon. Nobody even mentioned food. They played gwent, chattered and slowly, one by one, retired to bed. Temptation to sneak into the pantry was strong but Cahir resisted. He hadn't been given permission to go in there, the others had no way of obtaining more food other than if they went hunting. It wouldn't have been fair of Cahir to have more than what he was allowed.
Come morning, Cahir's stomach ached. It wasn't the longest he had gone without food, sometimes the army had shit luck and not enough supplies. But that wasn't to say he was fine with it. To silence the rumbling of his stomach, Cahir scooped up some snow when nobody was paying him any attention. It didn't really solve anything but certainly fooled his body into thinking it had something to digest at least.
Thankfully they had dinner that evening. Cahir felt like a starving man and shovelled food into his mouth until he was almost sick. It was a stupid thing to do, he knew it but he couldn't help himself. He didn't mean to be greedy and, when all things were considered, he still didn't come anywhere close to eating as much as any of the witchers.
There was no breakfast the next morning. By the afternoon Cahir was more than hungry again. Alas, there was no dinner. He tried not to be jealous of Jaskier who sat in Geralt's lap, snacking on some nuts.
It was an odd pattern to life. Cahir tried to get used to it but really struggled. He was no witcher, he couldn't keep up with all the activity and lack of sustenance. What made it all the more difficult was that Jaskier seemed to have free access to the pantry. Then again, he was a bard and a success in his own right, probably earned more in a year than Cahir had in his whole career with the army. So Jaskier no doubt contributed to the food stash, brought his own snacks and earned the right to eat as and when he pleased. It wasn't like Cahir had much he could contribute; no money, no resources, he couldn't even earn his keep by teaching fighting as the others regularly beat him. Sadly, Cahir couldn't even claim to have moral integrity or loyalty, those he abandoned when he carried out orders regardless of his opinions and when he defected. Really, all Cahir could do was help out around the keep as needed. So he kept mucking out the stables, mixing up mortar, chopping wood. He had taken to wrapping his hands to try and protect them. Alas, he had blisters within blisters and they were agony.
Hunger became a more consistent companion than the others. Eskel still sought him out but Cahir didn't have the ability to think extensively about what it could mean, whether it was flirting or just how Eskel was. The pangs of hunger and worries about being seen as weak clouded his mind completely.
One evening Cahir was desperate. Snow was falling, it was cold and yet they still trained, nailed wood over cracks in the walls and the animals needed tending to. Trying not to be greedy, Cahir looked around the table as the witchers ate with their usual gusto. Nobody was paying him much attention and he was only human, he was weak. The hunk of bread he snagged from the basket near him was sequestered away. Cahir could have sworn it gained weight and burned his thigh the more he thought about it. But he was so hungry between meals. Guilt gnawed away at him for stealing the bread yet he couldn't bring himself to put it back. He'd just eat less at the next meal, he told himself. And he'd work harder to make up for his greed.
Even though the next morning his stomach didn't hurt quite so bad, the shame and guilt made Cahir feel sick. But there was no denying that having bread before starting the day and just before bed really did help. It meant Cahir actually could dedicate his energy to deciphering that yes, Eskel probably was flirting with him. It was oddly nice even if Cahir didn't know how genuine it was. Still, when Eskel suggested they go hunting together, Cahir jumped at the chance.
In the morning, the last two bites of stale bread still tasted like bliss and Cahir pulled himself together for another day. Eskel had said that their departure would depend on the weather and, given that large snowflakes were whipping past his window, Cahir assumed they wouldn't head out that morning. He was right. It was no small relief as it meant that Cahir could go out the next morning, after a good meal. Alas, he didn't get a chance to snag more bread. Not that he would have dared to, going out hunting with Eskel meant likely zero privacy and the smell of his stolen food would have been too easy to detect.
Heading out with Eskel was rather thrilling. The world around them was white, the snow thick and crisp under their feet. Somehow Cahir hadn't anticipated they would venture quite so far. He had honestly thought they would be back by nightfall. So when they were more than half a day's travel from Kaer Morhen, Cahir was taken by surprise. Eventually though Eskel looked around and nodded.
"We'll set out traps. And make camp a little way over."
The cold made setting traps a little more tricky, Cahir's hands didn't want to co-operate all that well. But he did it and ended up huddled by a small fire Eskel had set up.
"I promise this isn't a sleazy attempt-" Eskel began with a small grin, "-unless you want it to be. But it will be warmer if we share a bedroll."
Part of Cahir had assumed this little hunting trip had been a ploy by Eskel for them to spend time together away from the others. Something that he both appreciated and was excited by.
"As much as I want it to be, I think if we did anything, my dick would be like an icicle. And nobody would enjoy that."
Snickering, Eskel nodded. It was how they ended up huddled under a couple of furs, Eskel incredibly warm against Cahir's back. All in all, it was nice. It was the most contact Cahir had had for a long time and he hadn't realised just how much he'd missed it until that moment.
The sun rose to find Cahir had turned during the night and had wrapped around Eskel, tucked close to his chest and under his chin. It made the awful hunger easier to live with in a way. Whether it was worth it or not wasn't really up for debate, it was what he had and he was going to be content with it.
Gathering their prey from the traps, Eskel grinned.
"I was thinking of snagging a boar while we're out here. If you want to gut the rabbits, save us having to carry their weight and have the mess at home."
It was something Cahir agreed to easily. He was already dreading the walk back, knowing his energy was going to be barely enough. If he'd had to hunt boar on top of that, who knew what would happen.
The walk back was miserable. Eskel seemed in good spirits as he led them, boar slung across his shoulders. It meant Cahir didn't feel quite so self-conscious for stumbling and being slow. At least Eskel had the grace to not keep going at an unattainable speed. So really Cahir only had himself to blame that they were not going at the pace Eskel had wanted. It meant that darkness descended around them and they walked the last hour or so by torchlight.
As they passed through the gates, Cahir had just one thought that kept him going; dinner. He was so hungry, had found a few icicles to suck on along to way to try and push through the hunger. Walking into Kaer Morhen, Cahir's heart plummeted. The hall was empty, there was nothing left on the table except Lambert's plate which he had a knack for leaving out. All the food had been put away though. Trying to hold back tears of frustration, Cahir coughed when Eskel playfully slapped him on the back.
"Ah, too bad. We'll get together in a couple of days."
A couple of days. Cahir couldn't last that long. Even now his hands were shaking, he felt a little dizzy. Another two days without food wasn't something he could survive. But it looked like he had no other choice.
That night he barely slept, the growls of his stomach were bordering on painful. Temptation was to sneak down to the pantry and have some leftovers. But Cahir wanted to be better than that. He didn't want to steal, not when he'd been invited to Geralt's home which was already such a generous gesture.
With the sun, Cahir got up. The stables needed mucking out before training in the courtyard commenced. He didn't do as good a job as he could have, it definitely wasn't up to his usual standards. But Cahir was so hungry, it was all he could think about. As he topped up the trough for the animals, he spotted an apple. Half of it was brown and bruised beyond being fit for human consumption. But the other half looked fine. Casting furtive looks around, Cahir snatched the apple before any of the animals could get to it. He felt like the lowest of the low, like scum for stealing from the animals. But he was so hungry. Biting into the apple, Cahir choked back a sob. It was so sweet and yet the he couldn't enjoy it. The apple sat heavy in his stomach.
There wasn't time to dwell on it though. Cahir needed to get going, the others were probably already warming up for training. Sure enough the courtyard was where the others were gathered. Eskel handed Cahir a sword with a shy smile. Taking it, Cahir tried not to look too glum.
Warming up was already an exhausting chore. Cahir was sloppy, going through the motions without anything more than the bare minimum. His arms shook as he lifted the sword, his blisters burned as the rub.
"Pups, two against one," Vesemir called. It gave Cahir a chance to sit at the edge of the courtyard, heedless of the cold wetness that seeped into his bones. His stomach churned. At some point Cahir had closed his eyes, listening to the clash of swords and laughter. It devolved into grunts and growls until Vesemir called out a loud "enough".
"Cahir, come play with me," Eskel called.
It was the last thing Cahir wanted but he wasn't going to refuse. With not inconsiderable effort he stood up. The world swayed and black patches appeared in his vision. Not that it was anything new, it had been happening for the last few days. But it wasn't easing. And the ringing in his ears was drowning out all sounds. The sword in his hand felt heavy, he couldn't lift it despite his best efforts, thinking he could feign his way to being alright. He needed to- he needed-
"Cahir!" Someone called his name. Cahir needed to reply. Needed to- "Cahir!"
The world went completely black and the last thing Cahir heard, or thought he heard, was the yell of "someone fucking catch him!".
Warmth was the first thing that seeped into Cahir's consciousness. He was on something soft, a fire crackled nearby. It was drowned out by shouting. Someone was really pissed off. By the sounds of it, it was Jaskier.
"-showed him the pantry? Or thought to feed him?"
"We thought he'd ask if he needed something." That was definitely Geralt's voice.
With a scoff, Jaskier growled. "This is Cahir we're talking about. When have you ever known him to ask for something for himself?"
"Why didn't you show him then?" Geralt was defensive, Cahir opened his eyes and saw how Jaskier's back was to him and a huddle of very hangdog witchers were stood facing him.
"Because this is your home. I'm a guest here too. I can't take such liberties with your winter sanctuary."
Something pained crossed Geralt's face. "It is your home too."
A hand splayed over Geralt's heart as Jaskier walked closer to him. "I love you, you're very sweet. And we'll talk about this later. But for now, we need to focus on Cahir."
Eskel's eyes flickered to Cahir and widened. "He's awake!"
Like the most protective of vultures, they all descended on Cahir. Hands rubbed his back, reassurances were rumbled. Ever so slowly and gently he was sat up, resting weakly against a broad, warm chest.
"Here." Vesemir crouched opposite Cahir and held out a bowl. "Some weak broth to help. Once you've got some strength back, I believe a tour of the pantry is owed."
Slowly, Cahir sipped at the warm broth. Thankfully it wasn't too much for his stomach to handle, it brought no pain from suddenly filling him. He didn't expect Eskel to stroke through his hair, helping keep it out of his face.
"if you'll let me-" Eskel rumbled, "-I'll join you at the table whenever you need to eat. I may not join you, but I'd like to keep you company."
It sounded quite lovely. Something settled in Cahir's chest that he hadn't been aware of before. Looking around at the concerned faces, maybe he'd been silly assuming things. But it felt like they'd all made mistakes. Thankfully, none of them were unfixable.
Training was fun for the first time in years. Cahir didn't have to keep up appearances, didn't have to be perfect. If he was tired, sloppy, lost a bout, it simply didn't matter. Truth be told, he lost more bouts than won by a long stretch but that was to be expected when going against a witcher. But he was learning again, allowed to make mistakes, permitted to be a fallible human without consequences. Nobody challenged his authority, rode the momentary gloating fame of beating the White Flame's chosen one.
In fact, after all that had happened, it was during training that Cahir had laughed for the first time in too long. He loved the secluded freedom Kaer Morhen offered, along with the friendships that were motivated purely on the desire of his company rather than the favours and social standing he could offer.
That wasn't to say life was a smooth ride. Cahir couldn't bring himself to go into the armoury or the pantry, the rooms too small and the doors had a knack for slamming shut. The one time Lambert had tried to playfully ruffle his hair, Cahir forgot how to breathe, the phantom echoes of fingers pressing against his scalp and tearing through his mind wrenched to the forefront of his thoughts. That evening Lambert had gifted him a hat, saying it would give a bit more protection because he'd managed to weave dimeritium laced thread through it.
Apart from such small hiccoughs, things were fine. Cahir happily clashed blades with Eskel, the familiarity of the weight in his palm, the ringing of steel against steel, it was all a way to relax. When his body was tired his mind didn't have as much time to dwell on the past. It worked out just fine really.
So caught up in such thoughts, Cahir missed a parry and the world went spinning. There was a tight weight on his wrist as his sword went flying and he was forced to his knees, defenceless and restrained. Breath coming shallow, Cahir couldn't remember where he was or why. All he could think about was how his wrist ached behind his back, how he was helpless to do anything as he was knelt in front of an audience. Even if it was a different group, Vesemir, Lambert, Geralt were all watching and Eskel was behind him with a sword. The why of it all eluded Cahir but Eskel was a good man. And if he agreed that Cahir needed to be beheaded then it had to be a damn good reason. It wasn't as if anyone could call Cahir a good guy by any stretch of the imagination. No, he probably deserved it. All Cahir could think of was that at least it was Eskel. He was strong, had a sharp blade and was fair. At least he wouldn't make Cahir suffer by needing to take several swings to carry out the punishment. The last thing Cahir wanted to was to make it more difficult for Eskel. Not like there was much he could do but he tried. Bending his head, he gave Eskel a clear view of his neck and held his breath. He wasn't going to cry. That wouldn't be fair on poor Eskel.
For some reason, the blow never came.
The reason was pretty obvious as far as Eskel was concerned. They'd been fighting, he saw an opportunity and took it like so many bouts begore. But never before had Cahir crashed to his knees like that, rigid yet pliant in the worst of ways. The sudden drop in Cahir's heartrate was as terrifying as he shallow breaths and the haunted, distant gaze before Cahir's eyes scrunched shut. Somehow that wasn't even the worst of it. The sword fell from Eskel's hand as he saw Cahir bend his head, revealing the vulnerable part of his neck in a blatant invitation.
"Cahir?" Eskel's voice didn't shake as he slowly walked round to face Cahir. Kneeling down, there was no reaction to his presence except a fine tremor that ran through Cahir. The sour stench of terror permeated the air and Eskel's face fell. He didn't expect to be shouldered out of the way by Lambert who plopped down in front of Cahir without explanation.
"Okay, Cahir, buddy," he said as if it was an everyday conversation they were having, "I don't need you to talk yet but nod if you can hear me."
After a moment of tense silence there was a minute nod and Eskel tried not to think how that showed a bit more of Cahir's neck.
"Good. Again, just nod or shake your head. Do you know where you are?"
A hesitant nod followed by a shake of head. Cahir knew who he was with but not where and why. It was all a bit of a blurry haze.
"That's okay. You're in Kaer Morhen. Came here about two moons ago. Do you know who I am?"
"Lambert." Cahir's voice was a soft whisper, barely more than a breathless exhale.
"Good. I am indeed the asshole Lambert. Next to me is-"
"Eskel," Cahir cut in.
"Excellent." Slowly Lambert extended a hand along the ground until he was certain Cahir would be able to see it. "Can you tell me what's in front of you?"
There was a frown on Cahir's face as he squinted at the ground in front of him, arms still behind his back, head bent. "A hand?"
"That's it! Now, think you can follow it?" Slowly Lambert began to pull his hand back towards himself as Cahir tracked it first with his eyes then had to move his head. It was almost painfully slow, especially as Lambert began to raise his hand until it was next to his own head. But he smiled softly at Cahir who blinked at him in confusion. "There you are."
"What?" Cahir's arms fell limply to his side and he swayed, colour rapidly draining from an already pale face.
"You're okay," Lambert replied softer than the others had ever heard him before. "Just got a bit confused for a moment, lost in time. But you're here in Kaer Morhen, you're safe. What we'll do is take you to the kitchen, okay? Eskel will carry you. And we'll have a nice warm drink, maybe a small snack too. Okay?"
Still obviously confused, Cahir gave an obedient little "okay" which was all Eskel needed before scooping him up and holding him close to his chest. Murmurs of "you scared me" and "I'd never hurt you" were easy enough to hear. Lambert followed behind them and gave Vesemir a wry grin when their mentor fell in line with him.
"You were curiously well-versed."
Lambert shrugged. "Got a friend. He gets like that sometimes."
An eyebrow was cocked at Lambert as Vesemir read between the lines.
"Maybe you should bring him along next year. If he's such a good friend."
The grin on Lambert's lips turned into something truly happy and excited. "Maybe I will. It's been a while since Kaer Morhen had some pussy."
The smack to the back of his head was worth it though and Lambert laughed as Vesemir shook his own in mock disappointment. "Just bring your damn Cat."
