Archive of Our Own

Jaskier hadn’t meant to go running after another Witcher, really. But he’d heard some vague rumors about a Witcher taking down some ghouls nearby, and thought it might be his Witcher. He hadn’t run into Geralt in some months now.

It was only his third year trailing after Geralt, and Jaskier still felt afraid that everytime he saw Geralt might be the last. The Continent was a wide place, surely if Geralt wanted to avoid him it’d be simple enough?

So he was a bit disappointed to walk into the tavern and find a witcher that wasn’t Geralt sitting in the far back corner of the room. Dark haired with a scar across his eye, twin swords unmistakable even in the dim lighting.

Jaskier walked up to the table as though he had a right to be there. “Hello, friend! My name is Jaskier, the bard and –“

“Fuck me, you’re Geralt’s bard?” the witcher said.

“-Well, I am my own man, but yes I am the White Wolf’s bard, you know I –“

The witcher snorted. “Fuck off, kid. I’m here to drink alone.”

Jaskier scowled at him. “Are all Witchers this rude? I’m sensing a pattern here. I just came here to ask if you’d be willing to share some stories with me – I’ll paint you a grand heroic tale out of it! Come on, I’ll buy you a drink, I get a story and a song out of it, you get a boost to your reputation. What say you?”

The witcher glared at him. “Hm. Free booze?”

“Free booze,” Jaskier grinned.

“Fuck, alright.” The witcher waved over a barmaid while Jaskier pulled up a chair.

“Whats your name, darling?”

“Lambert. From the wolf school.” Drinks were slid in front of them and Lambert pulled out a hip flask. “Hey, mind if I top us off? It's good stuff, promise.”

“Certainly,” said Jaskier, as Lambert poured a strange liquor into his cup.

The last thing Jaskier remembered was that the drink had tasted foul, and the rest was hazy. He woke up with a screaming headache, face pressed against the sticky surface of the table, as someone violently shook his shoulder.

“Son, we’re closing up for the night,” the voice behind him spoke as Jaskier straightened up, nausea rising and head splitting. “Go home and sleep it off.”

It wasn’t until Jaskier was sitting in his room that he pieced together what happened. The witcher had slipped something in his drink, the nerve! Now, he had done it in full view of Jaskier, and maybe Jaskier should have asked what was in his drink before taking it, especially from a stranger – but still.

Jaskier was going to murder him if their paths ever crossed again.

Jaskier did enjoy court. He mostly enjoyed the food and the feather beds, but still. Lord Rost has hired him for a month-long gig, at the end of which he’d meet Geralt in Redania. Hopefully. It was his fourth year on the path with Geralt and he’d learned by now that plans were never certain.

Jaskier had snuck down to the grand hall, because if the servants were to be believed (and you should always trust the servants on matters of gossip), there was a Witcher here.

Jaskier thought it was probably about the foglets definitely haunting the forest nearby.

He was hoping it was a Witcher from a different school. Geralt had slipped up and admitted there were other schools but the Wolf School but had refused to elaborate except to insist that Jaskier was not to try to track any of the other schools down, for the love of Melitele –

Anyways, what Geralt didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, Jaskier thought, as he slipped into the grand hall. There were enough servants and guards that no one really paid him any mind. Then he caught sight of the Witcher in question.

“You,” he said.

Lambert turned around to glare at him.

“Do you know him, Julian?” Lord Rost asked.

The question rapidly made Jaskier aware of where he was. Right. He was a human being, from a noble family, making accusations to a witcher, in the middle of a noble court.

Lambert also seemed to realize this, if the bitterness in his expression and the way he stiffened was anything to go by.

The witcher was covered in muck and blood, a bloody bag no doubt filled with his trophies clutched in his hand.

Well, he wasn’t going to deny a man his well earned pay just because Jaskier hadn’t asked what was in his drink. Besides, he wanted to cuss him out in private, not make a public spectacle that might end in someone getting imprisoned.

So Jaskier pasted on a smile and said : “Lovely to see you again, Lambert,” his eyes flicked from Lambert to Lord Prost, who still looked dubious. “Lambert’s a friend – from the same school as the White Wolf, did you know? He owes me a round of drinks, is all. I’d embrace you, friend, but you are absolutely covered in muck and these silks are new.”

Lambert squinted at him for a second, before turning to the lord. “The contract said 250. I’ll be taking 250.”

Jaskier came to stand by Lambert’s side, peering at his bloody, dripping bag. Trying to seem natural but also making his presence known. “What was the contract for?” he asked.

“Foglets,” Lambert bit out.

“Geralt got 350 for foglets last spring,” said Jaskier, nudging the bloody bag with one toe. It made a squelching sound that disgusted and fascinated him in equal measure. The thing with nobles was that they needed to be cajoled a little bit. Couldn’t outright accuse them or threaten them the way Jaskier enjoyed doing to shitty aldermen. “They’re terrible creatures, incredibly difficult to kill – if Lambert here killed them for only 250 then that’s quite a deal you’ve struck, Lord Prost.”

Lord Prost’s eyes flickered from Jaskier to Lambert and to the other courtiers in the room, before he sighed and said: “Take your money and go. And take the heads with you, they’re vile.”

“Thank you, milord,” Lambert said with as much snark as he could, taking the rest of his pay due to him from a terrified servant. He turned to Jaskier with a hard to read expression. “At the Singing Piper. If you want those drinks you’re due,” he said abruptly, and stalked out of the manor.

Which is how Jaskier ended up in the barroom of the Singing Piper, plopping down in a seat across from Lambert. “You poisoned me,” Jaskier hissed.

Lambert snorted. “It was White Gull diluted in vodka, relax, bard.”

“Here I was just trying to make friendly conversation –“

“We aren’t friends.”

“And you went and slipped something in my drink.”

“I poured it into your drink right in front of you. Didn’t make you drink it.”

“Does Geralt know you tried to poison me?” Jaskier asked.

“Does Geralt know you let strangers spike your drink without asking what’s in it?”

“…Fair enough,” said Jaskier. “I won’t tell if you won’t” he smiled, holding out a hand.

Lambert looked at it suspiciously but didn’t take it. “Could have told the whole court back there.”

“But then you wouldn’t have gotten paid, and I wouldn’t be able to coax a few stories out of you. Come on, now, I’ve worn down one Witcher into tolerating my presence, I can do it again!”

“That’s because my brother’s soft in the head,” said Lambert. “Got knocked into a tree one too many times.”

Jaskier snorted. “Oh, you should have seen him last spring - he got launched right across the clearing into a tree, got knocked out cold when he broke the curse on this weird fucked up chest we were meant to retrieve. I made it seem much more heroic and dignified than it was when I wrote the song. I won’t tell the audience I spent two hours fretting over him, making sure he wasn’t dead.”

Lambert laughed. “Tell you what, bard. Since you’re the reason I got paid tonight. If you give me an embarrassing story about Geralt, I’ll give you a story in return. Deal?”

Jaskier grinned. “Deal.”

Lambert was, for once, having a good day. He’d killed a noonwraith and escaped with nothing but a few scrapes and bruises. And miracle of miracles, he’d gotten paid the full amount he was promised without even having to argue for it.

The Beltane festival had begun that morning and by the time he returned from collecting his pay, it was early evening and the festivities were starting in earnest. Since no one here seemed to really give a fuck if there was a witcher wandering about, Lambert decided he’d take advantage of the freely flowing wine and booze while he was at it.

He smelled the bard before he saw him – hard not to recognize his scent when it was clinging to his brother every winter. Geralt said they didn’t travel together that much, but that was bullshit – otherwise the bard’s scent wouldn’t have gotten so deep into all of Geralt’s gear and clothes, enough to cling even after weeks apart.

Whatever. If his brother wanted to be in denial, that was his business.

Lambert leaned against a tree on the edge of the field hosting the party, scanning the crowd until his eyes fell on the bard – the bard who had already spotted him and was making his way towards him with a bright grin.

“Bard,” he greeted, lifting his pint in greeting.

“Witcher,” said Jaskier. He was flushed with drink, stumbling slightly as he stepped up to Lambert. “Heard they’d hired a Witcher, was hoping it was you!”

That did something funny to Lambert’s chest, which he firmly ignored. “Thought you’d be hoping it was Geralt.”

“Oh no, I knew it wasn’t Geralt,” said Jaskier, waving him away. “He was heading towards Vizima last I saw him.”

“Not trailing behind him like a lost dog this time?”

“I’ve got an invitation to play for the Duke Eldan up in Kovir,” said Jaskier. “Geralt didn’t want to come, and there’s quite a bit of coin to be made, so we split up. We may meet up again in the fall, if all goes well. What about you? Path treating you well?”

Lambert snorted. “When does the Path treat anyone well?” he said. “But hey, I got paid and no one spat on me yet today, so – cheers, I guess.”

“Come – let me buy you a drink,” said Jaskier. “It’s been what, three years since I last saw you? You must tell me what you’ve been up to since then.” He slinged an arm around Lambert’s shoulders and pulled him towards the tables where the food and drink were, and Lambert let him.

Lambert told the bard a few stories from the Path, and all the while Jaskier was rapt in attention as they found a place to sit beneath the trees. It was strange having someone listen to him. Jaskier was smart, was the thing – he didn’t know shit about alchemy or monster hunting but he asked questions and he understood when Lambert explained.

“Hasn’t Geralt already told you this shit?” he said, after explaining the intricacies of different types of vampires and how fucking hard higher vampires were to kill. He pulled a flask of white gull out of his bag and topped off his drink. He did not give any to the bard this time. The man was already well on his way to being drunk, he didn’t need the extra help.

“You vastly overestimate how much Geralt talks,” said Jaskier.

“So how does that work? How do you travel together if he doesn’t talk?” said Lambert. “Why do you travel with him?”

Jaskier hummed, considering. “At first, I really was just an annoyance he couldn’t shake off. Only the first year, though. I talk, he mostly listens. He talks when it matters. He fishes me out of whatever trouble I’ve gotten myself into, and I drag him out of monster lairs and patch him up. It's weird but we’re starting to be so used to each other, we work like a well-oiled machine. Perhaps I just enjoy his company.”

“Hmm,”

“Oh he’s still a crotchety old bastard, though, don’t get me wrong. And as much as I annoy him, he knows exactly how to get on my nerves as well,” said Jaskier.

“We all thought he was going a bit soft in the head when he started traveling with you,” said Lambert, knocking back the rest of his drink. “But you’re good for him.”

“Good for him?” Jaskier asked. His hand unsubtly reached for Lambert’s flask of gull.

“Yeah, he’s less mopey,” said Lambert, snatching the flask away from the bard. “Didn’t you learn anything from the last time you drank my booze?”

“I’ve been told I don’t learn from my mistakes,” said Jaskier. “Come on, just a touch?”

Lambert rolled his eyes but poured a few drops of white gull into Jaskier’s wine. It would taste like shit mixing in with the wine, but whatever. Wasn’t his problem.

Unsurprisingly, Jaskier coughed and made a face when he drank his terrible cocktail. “Where do you get this stuff anyways?”

“I make it,” said Lambert.

“You make it? You’re a brewer?” Jaskier said, looking genuinely interested.

And, well, Lambert didn’t get to talk shop a lot. “Yeah. Got a distillery set up at Kaer Morhen, I make batches over the winter. White gull you can buy at the apothecary, if you know where to go. That’s where pretty boy gets his. But I can make mine stronger and I can mix it in with other things as well. And hell, its not like there’s much to fucking do locked in a decrepit keep all winter. I like seeing what I can make. I very graciously share my stuff with the rest of the numbskulls up in Kaer Morhen over the winter.”

Lambert spoke about the finer points of distilling and alchemy as the night got fuzzier and fuzzier around the edges. If Lambert was feeling buzzed, Jaskier was on his way to truly fucked up as he finished his wine and white gull monstrosity.

“Will you dance with me?” Jaskier asked, his eyes wide and bright from drink. The sun had finally set, dipping them into shadows and the warm light of the bonfires.

“Piss off,” said Lambert without much heat.

“Come on, Lamb, just one dance, please?”

He’d had too much white gull, he knew that, because he grumbled a curse under his breath but let Jaskier haul him forward to the edge of the dancing group.

They clumsily fumble for position as both try to lead, until Lambert lets the bard take position, his drink muddled mind gently reminding him he didn’t actually know how to dance, let alone lead.

The bard was chattering about some court drama or other, about whatever latest stupidity the nobility of Redania has gotten themselves into this time. Lambert couldn’t follow it, but indulged him all the same because fuck it, he was having a good time.

It was nearly dawn by the time he dragged an only semi conscious Jaskier up the stairs to the bard’s room (it took him a good fifteen minutes just to wheedle out of Jaskier where his room even was in his drunken state).

“Stay the night, Lam,” Jaskier slurred, as Lambert unceremoniously dumped him on the bed.

“You’re drunk.”

“D’you have a room?” Jaskier said, squinting at him.

“Nah, no rooms left. Gonna sleep in the woods.”

“Stay the night,” said Jaskier, insistently. “Come on…I promise – I promise your virtue is safe with me,” he said solemnly.

Lambert barked out a laugh. “Fuck it, fine. I’ll sleep here.”

Jaskier hummed contently, as he haphazardly yanked his boots off before collapsing on top of the blankets. “Bed’s big enough for two.”

Lambert rolled his eyes as he went and spread out his bedroll by the fireplace. Hell of a good day, he thought, as he sunk into sleep, the sound of Jaskier’s breathing and slow heartbeat in the background.

*

It took a few months before Lambert heard the song. He was tired and nursing a fucked up shoulder, but he got paid at least, so he was willing to put up with the hum and buzz of the tavern and the mediocre bard that was playing.

It took him a few seconds to realize that the bard was playing one of Jaskier’s songs. Afterall, who the fuck else is writing flattering songs about witchers. It took him another few to realize the song wasn’t about Geralt.

It wasn’t based on a real hunt, but rather seemed to be pieced together from several hunts and bits of information that Lambert knew he had shared with Jaskier over Beltane. It was about a cunning witcher who uses his wits to outsmart a higher vampire terrorizing a city.

For a second, he just sat there, listening to the song, feeling baffled.

Lambert knew he was smart. Hell, he wouldn’t be alive if he wasn’t. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever really been complimented for it before. He wasn’t a model student and later on, well, it wasn’t exactly the thing people noticed about him.

And while Jaskier had no common sense or self-preservation instincts to speak of, he wasn’t stupid. He was incredibly intelligent, highly educated, and for him to see Lambert that way was no small thing.

The bard, the little bastard, was starting to grow on him, Lambert thought, feeling an odd warmth swell up in his chest.

*

Jaskier let out a string of curses when he hit his shin on the table.

Geralt looked at him from their shared inn bed, amused. “Since we do you speak Skelliger?”

“Oh I met with Lamb last fall –“

“Lamb?” Geralt said, incredulous.

“Yes, Lamb, Lambert, your brother – he taught me how to curse in a few languages I didn’t know,” said Jaskier, climbing into bed with Geralt. “I taught him how to curse in Elder, in exchange.”

“Do you call him Lamb to his face?” Geralt asked, as Jaskier curled up against him.

“Of course.”

“And he lets you?”

“…yeah?”

Geralt snorted. “I’m telling Eskel.”

*

Jaskier spotted them enter the tavern in the middle of his set – Lambert looking exhausted and grumpy, and a tall, very attractive stranger with long dark hair and twin swords on his back. Jaskier finished his set like a professional, collected his very generous amount of coin, and made his way over to the back table where the two witchers were sitting.

“Lambert, darling, light of my life –“ Lambert scowled “- it's been ages! Introduce me to your handsome friend, here.”

The handsome stranger extended his hand for what Jaskier thought was a handshake. Instead, the witcher kissed Jaskier’s hand and smiled. “Aiden of Beauclair, at your service.”

“Jaskier, at yours, my dear.”

Lambert grumbled something under his breath that Jaskier couldn’t make out, but it made Aiden shoot him an amused look.

“Is Geralt with you?” Lambert asked, suddenly.

Something in Jaskier’s heart twinged. He forced a smile. “Geralt and I aren’t traveling together this year,” he said. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“No, it's – it's good,” said Lambert, some of the tension leaving him. “Sit down, bard.”

“What brings you to this lovely little backwater town?” Jaskier said, before anyone could ask why he wasn’t traveling with Geralt this year.

“A mated pair of Royal Griffins,” said Aiden.

“Oh,” said Jaskier. “You simply must tell me what happened – sounds like the makings of great ballad.”

“Good. It’s about time the White Wolf shares the fame with the rest of us,” said Aiden.

Jaskier watched with a shrewd eye as Aiden continued to be charming and well-spoken, and Lambert continued to grumble and bristle like a hedgehog.

Eventually, Aiden left to go get them food and drinks, leaving Jaskier to turn his gaze on Lambert, calculating.

“What?” Lambert bit out.

“Any particular reason you’re even pricklier than usual? Because you look about ready to bite my head off,” said Jaskier.

Lambert grumbled something under his breath. Rude. Jaskier kicked him under the table, hard.

“What was that?” Jaskier said.

“…Don’t like you flirting with him,” said Lambert quietly.

Oh.

“Lambert, I know I have a reputation for being a heartless cad, but you’re my friend. I’m not going to steal your lover away, all you had to do was tell me,”said Jaskier, half insulted.

“It's not like we’re exclusive,” said Lambert. “It’s…complicated.”

“Well, he clearly means a lot to you, and I’m not going to meddle with that,” said Jaskier.

Something in Lambert relaxed just a bit. “Sorry, buttercup.”

Jaskier waved him off. “So…how long have you and Aiden been…?”

“Known him for a few decades now,” said Lambert. “Only been together a few years.”

“Are you happy?” Jaskier asked. He expected Lambert to snap at him for that, or to shoot back something snarky.

Instead, Lambert looked past him, towards where Aiden was surely standing, waiting for their food, and something softened in his expression. “Happiest I’ve ever been,” he admitted.

“Good. I’m glad,” said Jaskier, and did not think about his own aching heart.

He must not have done a very good job of it, because it was Lambert’s turn to look at him, calculating.

“Did something happen with Geralt?” he asked.

Jaskier shrugged. “Last summer, he found a djinn. Nearly killed me with it,” Lambert’s expression turned murderous so he hurried to add: “It was an accident! He found me help, it’s okay! I didn’t die! I still wake up thinking I’m choking on my own blood sometimes, but really…that’s expected, I guess! Anyways, the point is that he met a very scary witch and now he’s…involved with her in some kind of tragic love affair, I guess.”

Lambert paused for a minute. “So are you and Geralt fucking or what? Because Eskel and I can’t figure it out.”

Jaskier snorted. “Yeah, Lamb, we fucked. Among other things. He’s not the most emotionally available man I could’ve fallen in love with. And now he’s chasing after a sorceress. It’s complicated. You understand.”

“Sounds less like it's complicated, and more like he’s using you,” Lambert said bluntly.

Jaskier flinched. “How’s it any different than what you and Aiden are doing?” he said, a bit sharper than he meant to.

Lambert looked like he would rather gouge his eye out than continue this conversation. “Do I really need to explain this to you?”

“Yes.”

“Ugh, fuck, alright. Look - Aiden and I are both witchers. We can’t always walk the Path together – there’s just not enough work or coin to go around, and people get nervous around one Witcher, let alone two. We go months without seeing each other sometimes. It doesn’t make any sense for us to live like fucking monks all that time. What do I care if Aiden sleeps with a barmaid or two or goes to a brothel? He comes back to me at the end of it. And if it were anything more serious than a one night stand, it’d be…different. Wouldn’t happen without us talking about it, for starters. We’re…ugh,” Lambert grabbed his ale and drank before finishing saying: “we’re partners.”

Something is lodged in Jaskier’s throat. “Oh.”

Maybe he had started thinking of himself and Geralt as partners, a while before the djinn. He hadn’t taken any other lovers in a while and neither had Geralt and…well. Geralt had been more open in his affections than usual.

“We weren’t partners,” Jaskier said dully. “We were…” What? Friends with benefits? Geralt wouldn’t even admit to being his friend most days. “I was convenient,” he settled on, burning with shame.

“Fuck, that’s rough,” Lambert said. “D’you want some white gull?”

Jaskier laughed. “No, no thank you, my friend – I’m not up for the hangover it leaves behind.” He sobered up, considering. “I think I already knew. That whatever was between us wasn’t healthy, wasn’t going anywhere. It’s why I’m not traveling with him this year. I needed time to…figure some things out. Clear my head.”

“Hm. You need me to kick his ass for you, I will,” said Lambert.

“Lambert, darling, I’m touched, truly.”

“…If you do run into him again,” said Lambert slowly. “Don’t tell him about Aiden. He’s from a different school - there’s bad blood between the Wolves and the Cats. He’d be a dick about it, then he’d tell Vesemir, and Vesemir would be a raging asshole about it, and then I’d probably do something to get myself kicked out of Kaer Morhen permanently.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

*

“Lambert taught me how to make bombs,” said Jaskier proudly, when Geralt asked what trouble he’d gotten into during their time apart. They were traveling together again, after nearly a year and a half apart. It was comforting and familiar, being back on the road with him. They were so ingrained in each other’s lives, it was easy to fall back into their old routines.

But the first time Geralt offered to take Jaskier to bed, Jaskier turned him down and something in his tone must have clued Geralt in that things were ending, because he didn’t ask again.

Geralt sighed. “Why did it have to be Lambert you befriended?”

“Could be worse, dear. Could have befriended a Cat. Or a Viper,” said Jaskier, thinking about the short amount of time he’d spent with Aiden. Geralt didn’t need to know about that, though.

“Fuck.”

*

Lambert and Jaskier did cross paths a few other times over the years. Sometimes with Aiden, sometimes with Geralt, luckily never with both at once.

It was weird because Jaskier had considered Lambert a friend pretty much since their second encounter. But he was like that – he got attached to people quickly, whether it was reciprocated or not. It was just that he hadn’t considered that Lambert might consider him a friend as well until the midsummer music competition in Novigrad, when Lambert appeared out of the blue.

Jaskier was sweaty and gross and tired from having played a full set in the unforgiving sun, but he was feeling good too – the energy of the crowd was infectious, he was in his element, he performed very well, and he was confident he could win. Priscilla was competing as well, and he was thrilled to get the chance to see her again, and she was the only one he would concede a win to gracefully.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice appeared right behind him and said – “Hell of a show, buttercup.”

Jaskier only just managed to avoid spilling his water everywhere, cursing. “Fuck off, how are you so quiet.”

“Witcher,” said Lambert, grinning.

Jaskier smiled too. “Aiden here with you?”

“Nah, just me I’m afraid,” said Lambert.

“And what brings you to Novigrad? This isn’t your usual route,” said Jaskier. If he wanted to run into Lambert, Poviss, Kovir and Skellige were usually the safest bests, or Kaedwen if it was early spring or late fall. Sometimes he traveled farther south with Aiden and the caravan, but Jaskier rarely did.

Lambert shrugged. “Haven’t seen you in a couple of years. Heard you’d be competing here, thought I’d stop by.”

Almost instantly, Lambert crossed over in Jaskier’s mind from “a friend” to “a good friend”.

“You missed me,” said Jaskier, grinning.

“So what if I did?” said Lambert.

“I missed you too, Lam,” said Jaskier easily, delighting in how surprised and disgruntled Lambert looked at the statement. “Come, I’ll introduce you to my friend Priscilla.”

“You’ve got too many goddamn friends,” Lambert grumbled, but he followed.

Jaskier laughed but shook his head. He thought of Priscilla, Essi, Geralt, and Lambert. “Only a few good friends, though,” he said, and he meant it. “I’m competing again in a few hours, but after that we are going to a bar I know you’ll like.”

*

Lambert was having a fucking nightmare of a day.

He’d cleared out a whole nest of kikimores (and that is most certainly NOT what the contract had said. One kikimora, they’d said, one. But apparently these fucking peasants can’t count because there’d been five, and he kind of wished he’d had Aiden with him for it. He’d gotten lightly gored in his side, but the Kiss had mostly stopped the bleeding. He’d also been thrown halfway across the clearing into a tree, so his whole body ached like a bruise and he might have a mild concussion.

Whatever. Hazards of the job.

The issue had been that the alderman refused to fucking pay him and threatened to gather a mob and run him out of town if he didn’t go quietly, and Lambert had, again, been lightly gored and lightly concussed and had already paid for a room at the inn. He was damn well going to use it.

So fine. He didn’t get paid, he felt like shit, he was injured, he hadn’t seen Aiden in months, it was fine.

The inn had a barroom, which Lambert would ignore usually because he still had some of his winter stash of liquor saved up in his bags upstairs and he was about ready to strangle the next human being he interacted with. But as he passed the open doorway, he caught a familiar scent.

Jaskier wasn’t hard to spot, in his bright blue doublet, slumped over at the bar, drunk and miserable.

Fuck. Lambert debated just ignoring him, but the bard looked wrecked. It’d be a pretty shit thing to do to just leave him there.

He pulled up a stool next to the bard, who didn’t even register his presence until he said :“The fuck happened to you?”

Jaskier startled, nearly knocking over his glass before realizing who was next to him. His expression shuttered in a way Lambert had never really seen from him before. “Lambert.”

Something twisted in Lambert’s gut for a second. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to know – “Is…Geralt…?”

“He’s not dead,” said Jaskier, exasperated. He knocked back the rest of his drink and flagged the barkeep down for another. “Just told me I was to blame for all that’d gone wrong in his life and then told me that if life could give him one blessing it’d be to take me off his hands, and then he left me on top of a fucking mountain. And now I’m reconsidering whether we were ever actually friends, let alone anything else, and maybe he has just been using me for years.”

“He left you on a mountain?” Lambert asked.

“Hmm, yeah, thought I might not make it back down, to be honest. A bit treacherous and some nasty little beasties lurking about. But I made it down. Yay for me,” said Jaskier.

Now, was Lambert surprised that Geralt snapped and said something kind of shitty to someone he cared about? No, not at all. Geralt had the emotional competency of a slug. Was Lambert going to kick his ass next time he saw him? Absolutely.

“My whole career is built around him,” said Jaskier, putting his face in his hands. “I have plenty of other songs that aren’t about him, but people want to hear about the White Wolf. I’m the fucking White Wolf’s bard, fuck, I’m so angry. I’m stuck signing about him when all I want to do is have some fucking space from what happened.”

Lambert could smell the saltwater that preceded tears and wished he wasn’t so concussed for this conversation. “…Ok. Geralt’s a dick, you’re heartbroken, and definitely had enough to drink too. D’you got a room here?”

Jaskier hummed miserably. “Yeah.”

“Ok. We’re going upstairs,” said Lambert.

He tugged Jaskier to his feet, bullying him through the hall and up the stairs. He stumbled and leaned against Lambert a few times, which was just great because it jarred Lambert’s side and re-opened the wound. Lambert felt warm blood leak down his side and wondered what deity, exactly, he’d pissed off to get this hand in life.

“This isn’t my room,” Jaskier said, looking around in confusion when Lambert shoved open the bedroom door.

“Yeah, you don’t seem like you should be alone, and I need my stuff from my bags,” Lambert said, plopping Jaskier down on the bed. “Sit here.”

He could tell Jaskier was both watching him and weeping a bit, as Lambert turned his back on the bard to shuffle through his bags. He found the bandages he needed and dug out another dose of Kiss.

“I can help with that,” Jaskier said, voice soft.

“You couldn’t get up the stairs unaided, I don’t need your help, bard,” said Lambert as he pulled off his armor in practiced, thoughtless motions.

This made the bard cry harder for some reason, the smell of his distress flooding the room. He cried silently, as though worried about being noticed. It made something ugly curl in Lambert’s stomach. When had Jaskier ever wanted to be unnoticed in their nearly twenty years of knowing each other?

“I want to be useful,” said Jaskier, barely above a whisper.

“You don’t need to be useful,” said Lambert, dumping his armor in a pile to be dealt with tomorrow. He pulled off his shirt over his head. Gritting his teeth, he poured Kiss over the wound. It stung and burned, but the bleeding stopped. He bandaged it tightly and as quickly as he could. “You need to have a good cry and go the fuck to sleep.”

Jaskier laughed a bit at that, which Lambert counted as a victory. He pulled off his boots and finally turned back towards the bard.

“Take off your doublet, at least. Come on. I’ve had a shit day and so have you. We’re going to sleep.”

He waited until Jaskier had taken off most of his clothes, only keeping his small clothes and his chemise, and had crawled into the right side of the bed. Lambert did the same, extinguishing the candle and plunging them into darkness.

The place wasn’t very quiet – he could hear voices from the alley behind the inn, and from the barroom below, and someone snoring in the room next to theirs. He could hear Jaskier’s heartbeat and breathing, too fast to be asleep.

The thing was, he hadn’t seen Aiden in months, and the Path was kind of miserable to walk alone. Maybe it was the blow to the head talking, maybe the loneliness of the past few months, or maybe just the fact that he liked Jaskier, for some reason. Whatever the reason, Lambert spoke up.

“D’you want to travel with me for the rest of the season?”

Jaskier’s heartbeat sped up and Lambert could kick himself for asking – why would Jaskier want to go back on the Path with another emotionally repressed Witcher after what happened?

“Are you sure?” Jaskier asked. “…Don’t want to shovel any shit for you.”

“Fuck me, is that what Geralt said?” said Lambert. “Look, you don’t have to. But I’m heading to Skellige for a few weeks, and then I’m heading back towards Kaer Morhen. I can take you to Oxenfurt on the way back. It’d be nice to have company on the Path.”

“I don’t know, Lam,” said Jaskier softly.

“Well, think about it. The offer is there.”

*

In the morning, Jaskier left for Skellige with Lambert

*

In Kaer Morhen, weeks after dropping Jaskier off in Oxenfurt for the winter, Lambert bided his time to get Geralt alone.

Geralt, admittedly, looked like he’d been through hell, and the child surprise he brought with him looked much the same. Ciri wormed her way into everyone’s hearts pretty quickly, and Lambert was no exception, much to his dismay.

So he gave them a few days to settle in before he cornered Geralt in the armory. “Pretty boy.”

Geralt grunted.

“Explain to me why I heard you left the bard up on a fucking mountain, by himself, after twenty-two goddamn years,” Lambert said.

Geralt glared at him. “Why do you care?”

“Why do I care?” Lambert snapped. “Because he’s my friend, dipshit, and I don’t have a lot of those. I’d appreciate it if he stayed alive and in one piece.”

Geralt flinched. The fight seemed to leave him. “Fuck. It was a mistake, I fucked up,” he said, voice thin.

“Yeah, I figured,” said Lambert. “I’m not going to pretend I know what the fuck is going on between the two of you, but I know this - he’s been in love with you for well over a decade and you’ve been treating him like a fuck buddy or a whore, I don’t know – but I do know he deserves better. He’s not a placeholder until you can get your witch, Geralt.”

“He’s not –“

“He deserves an apology,” said Lambert. And he turned and left before he could say or does something stupid that would get Vesemir on his ass.

*

Jaskier was traveling on his own for a while, while Geralt headed North and Ciri headed east with Yennefer to a safehouse.

He was really traveling towards nowhere in particular when he stumbled onto Lambert’s camp by the side of the road. For a second, he was happy, eager to tell Lambert all that’s happened since they split ways after Skellige. But then Lambert looked up at him from where he was sitting at the campfire, and Jaskier took in the scene, and something like dread filled his veins.

Lambert looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. His armor was in bad shape. He looked like he hadn’t been eating either, if the gauntness of his face was anything to go by. He glowered at Jaskier when he saw him in a way he never had before, even back when they were not friends.

“What the hell happened to you?” Jaskier asked.

“What’s it to you, bard,” Lambert sneered and turned back towards the fire.

The dread got worse, filling Jaskier up until he felt heavy with it, as he considered the short list of things that could’ve gotten Lambert to this state. “Did something happen to Geralt, or to the others –“

“Don’t worry, your precious White Wolf is just fine,” Lambert said.

“Then what’s going on, Lambert, you’re scaring me –“

“Aiden’s dead,” Lambert snarled. “Happy now? He’s fucking dead. I wasn’t there, and now he’s fucking gone.”

For once in his life, Jaskier found himself at a loss for what to say.

What comfort could he offer in the face of such a loss?

Jaskier took a seat next to Lambert, careful not to crowd him. Lambert didn’t look away from the fire. The silence was heavy, like a pall coming over them as they sat.

“…what did I do to deserve this?” Lambert asked suddenly, his voice shaking and small in a way that scared Jaskier. “I mean, my father, and Volthere, and – and – and all the bullshit, and now Aiden. I must have done something fucking terrible, to deserve this.”

“You didn’t,” Jaskier said. “You didn’t deserve this and neither did Aiden. You could never deserve this.”

Lambert’s hands were shaking, Jaskier noted.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Lambert.”

“Fuck off,” Lambert huffed, but there was no real heat behind it. The anger seemed to have washed out of him, leaving only a glassy eyed grief behind. “He didn’t even – he didn’t even get a clean death. He got captured and tortured by some mage and I didn’t even have a body to burn or bury or…All I got left is his medallion, and I should return that to his school.”

“I think he’d want you to keep it,” said Jaskier, because he could see it pained Lambert that he couldn’t even keep this one small part of Aiden that was left.

Lambert didn’t talk much for the rest of the evening, but Jaskier pulled out the rations he had and bullied Lambert into eating. Once he managed to bully Lambert into sleeping as well, he took stock of Lambert’s things.

His potions were dangerously low. His armor had not been cared for. His rations were low. His coin was low.

He knew, realistically, that Lambert would not accept charity from him. So Jaskier was going to have to be sneaky if he wanted to give Lambert anything.

The next morning, over a breakfast that Jaskier insisted on, he broached the subject. “I’d like to travel with you for a little bit.”

“No,” said Lambert.

“Yes,” said Jaskier. “You seem to be self-destructing a bit and I’m worried about you. You aren’t going to survive the next hunt you take if you don’t restock your potions and take care of your gear.”

“Yeah? And who gives a fuck?” Lambert said.

“I give a fuck,” said Jaskier vehemently. “And what, you think your brothers aren’t going to be gutted if you don’t make it home for winter this year? What about Ciri, huh? Don’t you think Ciri’s lost enough?”

“She won’t –“

“She looks up to you, she adores you.”

Lambert swore, scrubbing a hand over his face roughly. “I know! I know, alright. I’m not – I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

“If you don’t want to travel with me, I need two promises out of you.”

“Who do you think you are, bard?”

“I’m your friend. Two promises. One, that you’re going to go to Kaer Morhen this winter. Two, that we’re going to meet in Ard Carraigh in the spring.”

“Fuck off, bard.”

“I swear to god, witcher, I will follow you until you give me those two promises,” Jaskier stubbornly insisted, and braced himself for a blow. Lambert is not even tempered on the best of days. But he was more terrified of letting Lambert out of his sight right now, than he was scared of Lambert’s anger.

Lambert cursed and then – something seemed to snap. He broke down into tears.

Jaskier, before he could think better of it, is at his side, putting an arm around his shoulders.

“…Fuck. Fine,” said Lambert. “I’ll go home. I’ll see you in the spring.”

Jaskier tightened his arm around Lambert. “Good. Good. Thank you.”

Before they split ways, Jaskier slipped some coin, some food and the extra potions he carried for Geralt into Lambert’s pack. It was not something he’d be able to do if Lambert wasn’t mired in grief and distracted by his own thoughts.

He prayed to whatever god watched over witchers for Lambert to get home in one piece.

*

Jaskier didn’t see Geralt again before winter started creeping in, and Jaskier settled into life at Oxenfurt. He would kill to be able to send a message to Kaer Morhen. He desperately wanted to know that Geralt, Lambert, and Ciri all survived the Path this year.

But instead he was in his rented rooms on campus, pretending to read a book while his mind was elsewhere that evening.

There was a knock on his door which startled Jaskier. As he pulled open the door, he found one of the pages from the school standing on the threshold, out of breath and wide-eyed.

The boy stuttered out – “There’s a witcher, here, professor. For you.”

“Is it Geralt? Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf?” Jaskier asked, scrambling to get his coat.

The boy shook his head. “He, uh, wouldn’t give his name. He’s – he’s a bit intimidating. Please, professor, just get him to leave.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes – if there was a Witcher here in the winter, he certainly wouldn’t be getting to leave. “Lead the way,” Jaskier said.

The boy escorted him until the doorsteps of the main academy building, before his courage ran out and stuttered some excuse to run off. Jaskier ignored him and rushed into the main hall.

The witcher standing in the hall was dangerously thin, missing an eye, and looked like he hadn’t had the chance to bathe in weeks. He clutched one small bag over his shoulder and there were knives stuck in his belt, but he had no armor, no swords, and no medallion.

It took a full five seconds before Jaskier recognized him. “Aiden?”

“Jaskier, I – uh – I ran into a bit of trouble,” said Aiden, shifting as though to make himself smaller, less threatening. “I need a place to stay, just for – just for a little while.”

“You’re alive,” said Jaskier, moving towards him, filled with relief and joy and god knows what else. He reached out for him – to hug him? To check if he was real?

Aiden tensed, a knife half drawn out of his belt before both he and Jaskier froze.

“Sorry, sorry, should know better by now after twenty years…” Jaskier said with a short, breathless laugh, taking a step back. “Come on, you can stay at my place, as long as you need. Its good to see you, my friend.”

Aiden just nodded, gripping his bag tighter.

Jaskier prattled on a little bit about Oxenfurt and about the term starting and everything and anything, watching Aiden out of the corner of his eye as they made their way back to Jaskier’s flat. Aiden was still hunched over, the hood of his cloak pulled low to obscure his eye. His eyes scanned for danger as they walked down the street, seeming to assess every stranger in a mile radius. The arm not holding his bag seemed…off. Jaskier had seen Geralt hide an injury often enough to recognize it for what it was. And more than that, there was no grace to his movements.

Aiden was a Cat, and while Lambert and Geralt were both graceful and quick in a way no human could ever be, Aiden was even more so. It was strange to see him almost unsteady on his feet, one arm held stiff, as he followed Jaskier up to his small apartment.

Once he’d ushered Aiden in, once he’d locked the door, he turned to the witcher. Said witcher had not relaxed one bit even with the locked door.

“Aiden. Why don’t you take a seat before you keel over? I’ll get us some food and a drink, and you can tell me what happened,” said Jaskier gently.

Aiden nodded mutely, sitting down on the couch heavily and with a wince.

Jaskier didn’t have much on hand, but he did have bread and cheese and a bit of cured meat, and that was better than nothing because Aiden looked incredibly malnourished. He returned to the room with the food, which he plopped down in front of Aiden, pushing a cup of wine towards him as well.

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” Jaskier said quietly as he sat in the armchair across from him. “We thought you were dead.”

Aiden didn’t reach for the food or the wine. He didn’t meet Jaskier’s eye. “Got in a bit of trouble. With a mage. Was with them for – for a while, I don’t know. Escaped. They took – they took all my gear.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to bother you, but Lambert’s probably gone home by now, and the caravan is far south…I didn’t know where else to go.”

Something in Jaskier’s chest constricted. “Well, you are always welcome here. I don’t know how you knew to find me here, but –“

“Lambert talks about you a lot,” Aiden said, and finally there’s a ghost of a smile on his face.

“Hah! I knew he liked me,” said Jaskier. “But as I was saying, you are welcome to stay the winter here, you certainly seem like you need a few months off the Path. And in the Spring we are going straight to Ard Carraigh to find Lambert.”

Aiden fiddled with his bag, still not looking at Jaskier. “…have you seen Lambert lately?”

“About a month ago,” said Jaskier.

“How is he?” And Aiden sounded so worried it twisted something in Jaskier again.

“…Not doing well, but he was alive and all in one piece. I made him promise to meet me in the spring, so hopefully, he won’t do anything reckless between here and there.”

Aiden ran a hand over his face. “Fuck. Fuck. None of this should have happened.”

Jaskier considered his next words carefully. “Aiden, I don’t mean to pry, but have you seen a healer since you escaped the mage?”

“No money,” said Aiden dully. “Everything I’ve got right now I’ve had to steal or scavenge.”

“Well, if you would like, I know someone in town who is an excellent healer. She’s an old friend, we can trust her. If you want her to come have a look…”

“I can’t pay her.”

“Obviously not. Again, she’s a friend, and I’ve got a professor’s salary,” said Jaskier. “Don’t worry about that. I’m just worried about your arm not healing right.”

“I…” Aiden’s eyes flicked around the room, like they were back on the street, as though looking for threats. Jaskier’s heart hurt. He wasn’t close to Aiden by any means, but gods, something horrific had happened to him, clearly. “I don’t trust anyone enough to – to touch me.”

Seeing as Jaskier wasn’t stupid and could put two and two together, he ventured a guess that Aiden hadn’t been touched kindly in many, many months. “…Think about it,” Jaskier said at last. “She can come here if you’d rather, I can stay with you if you want. Just give it some thought.”

Aiden nodded again.

“…Come on, eat, you look like you’re about to wither away in front of me. Eat,” Jaskier insisted, as he picked up his own plate.

Aiden hesitated but then thankfully, took his own plate and started eating.

“I’ll be in lectures most of tomorrow,” said Jaskier. “You’ll be alright here by yourself?”

“Better than by myself in the woods,” said Aiden.

“Yes, I suppose so. No one should come by during the day. I’d offer to keep your presence here a secret, but I’m afraid that’s a lost cause. But thankfully, no one will think it odd if I have a witcher staying with me for a few months, with the reputation I have. I’ll be discreet about your state of health, obviously. No one needs to know that you’re injured.”

“Thank you.”

“It's nothing,” Jaskier waved him off.

*

Aiden was tense as Jaskier left him in the sitting room to retire for the night.

He knew, logically, that Jaskier was about as harmful as a fly, and for him to have earned Lambert’s trust was no small feat. He knew this. He still didn’t feel safe.

Aiden hadn’t felt safe in months.

He managed to sleep, eventually, if only because the last few weeks of getting through the wilderness alone had been brutal. They’d barely fed him for all the time he was kept imprisoned, and afterwards he’d been too slow and weak to hunt. He’d foraged, he’d stolen, he’d made do, but he knew it was slowing his healing and making him weaker.

Lambert had thought him dead. Gods.

He had hoped, at some point after his escape, that maybe Lambert hadn’t known at all. It wasn’t unusual for them to split ways on the Path and not hear from each other for a season.

He could tell from the grim look in Jaskier’s expression that Lambert had not dealt with his death well. Part of him was surprised at the impact that his death had. Another part of him understood completely. If the roles were reversed, if he lost Lambert, it would shatter him.

They’d known each other for nearly forty years now. Forty years of shared hunts, shared meals, hundreds of little memories and habits built between the two of them. More than ten of those years spent sharing a bed, knowing even when they were apart for stretches of time that Lambert would return to him at the end of it. He trusted Lambert with his life, but more importantly, he trusted Lambert with everything else – with the good, the bad, the intimate, the vulnerable, everything and anything. Even now, after everything, paranoid as he was, he trusted Lambert without question. The Path was lonely and cruel and bleak. He could not imagine facing it without him.

He woke up before Jaskier, and thought to himself that he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He’d never really been off the path before, not since he got his medallion. The caravan was the closest he got, and there were chores and training and supply runs to do. It was nothing like hiding out in a professor’s apartment because he was fucking destitute and injured and everyone who would give a fuck about it was halfway across the continent.

He didn’t know if Jaskier would actually let him stay here for the winter. He was wracking his brains trying to figure out what he’d need to do to ensure that he could stay here and not be thrown out on the streets, when Jaskier finally stumbled out of his room, bleary eyed and still buttoning up his doublet.

“Morning, dear. Sweet Melitele, I hate teaching morning classes,” he mumbled. “Sleep alright?”

Aiden nodded, stepping out Jaskier’s way and giving him a wide berth. He was embarrassed that he’d pulled a knife on him when clearly, Jaskier had just been happy to see him. He was so tightly wound these days that he knew he’d lash out if someone so much as brushed against him. Gods, he had pulled a knife on the man he was here to beg a favor off of. He was fortunate Jaskier seemed to be desensitized to witcher nonsense by now.

“I’m going to call for a bath,” said Jaskier, picking up papers and haphazardly stuffing them into a bag. “For you,” he added, when Aiden just stared at him blankly. “You can hide in my room if you want to avoid the landlady’s daughter when she brings up the water.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Aiden said.

“You look and smell like you’ve been dragged through a sewer, I most certainly do. Anyways. I won’t be back until mid afternoon. The place is yours, do as you please – and for the love of Melitele, eat. Understood?” The bard gave him a look that was meant to be intimidating, but Aiden thought was a bit funny.

“Yes, mother,” Aiden said, smiling.

“Yes, alright, I’m late. Stay out of trouble, witcher!”

*

Aiden did, in fact, hide in the bard’s room while the woman brought up a bath and water. He could hear her mutter through the door : “…why does he even NEED a bath NOW, it's midmorning and he’s not even here…”

He stood still, unmoving, heart beating much faster than it should, until he heard her leave.

He waited a few more minutes before leaving the bedroom. Despite the bard’s insistence that he wouldn’t be back until the afternoon, Aiden locked the door and jammed a chair under the handle for good measure.

Aiden methodically took off his clothes, and sank into the warm water. It was hard to conjure up Igni to warm the water, but he tried anyways, because he needed to practice, he needed to get his skills back before –

Aiden gave up on Igni, a few weak sparks all he was able to conjure. He washed weeks of filth out of his hair. Scrubbed his skin nearly raw.

He nearly felt like a person again, he thought, as he shrugged back on his dirty clothes because they’re the only ones he had. Not quite, but nearly.

*

He eventually consented to letting Jaskier’s friend see to his injuries. He was so tense he felt nauseous when he agreed, but he needed to do something, anything to salvage his arm. He still didn’t trust Jaskier’s hospitality not to run out, so he gritted his teeth and asked to see Shani before Jaskier got fed up with his free loading.

Shani didn’t touch him more than she had to, and when she did, she narrated the whole thing. Jaskier was in his room, grading papers, and there was a semblance of privacy while also knowing that if Shani were to try something, Jaskier would overhear.

He didn’t entirely trust the bard, but he had to trust him a little bit by necessity – he was sleeping in his house and eating his food. If he wanted Aiden dead, it wouldn’t be that hard to accomplish.

So he didn’t trust Jaskier entirely, but he certainly trusted him more than this strange woman.

He had to bite back panic and nausea every time she touched him.

The exam eventually came to an end. When Shani said that his arm should heal with time, he could cry with relief. She told him what exercises he’d need to do to regain strength and dexterity and gave him poultices and potions to help with the pain and the twitches. She acknowledged that his leg healed wrong, and will cause him pain, but to re-break it may hurt more than help. There wasn’t much they could do. Aiden assures her it will join the other myriad of aches and pains he’s collected from a life of monster hunting. The missing eye she couldn’t do anything for, except to pass him an eye patch which Aiden is grateful for.

*

For the first several days all he did was sleep and eat. He knew realistically if he were a human being, he’d be dead by now. Even as a witcher he was approaching his limits. He hadn’t realized quite how bad it was until he got here, and his body realized it was safe to shut down.

The bard was a whirlwind of chatter and disorganization. The flat was sometimes a warzone of scattered papers and broken quills. He talked about things that Aiden vaguely understood and continued to be incredibly insistent on making Aiden eat.

Aiden still felt like it was a trick, every time he was offered food. The bard was used to witchers’ stubbornness and was undeterred.

The tension grew inside of Aiden with every day, as it became clear that he wasn’t going to be recovered any time soon. He couldn’t return to the Path right now. And though the bard hadn’t said anything about kicking him out, Aiden felt the threat of it hanging over him like a sword waiting to drop.

*

It was stupid how it all came to a head, Aiden thought dimly. The racketing tension of the last two weeks getting higher and higher as the days went by, certain that something was going to give, something was going to make Jaskier kick him out.

Aiden was in the kitchen grabbing the wine that Jaskier asked for. It was a vintage from Toussaint that probably cost several contracts’ worth of coin. He made the mistake of taking in his bad hand, and it slipped between his fingers. His reflexes were not what they used to be.

The bottle shattered on the floor in front of him and Aiden could only stare at it and wonder if this might be the last straw for Jaskier. There was panic rising in him because if Jaskier kicked him out he was going to die, he just needed more time, just a bit more of it and then he could find Lambert in the spring, and they could figure it out together. They’ve always figured it out together.

He really, really didn’t want to die. He was terrified that he’d been given this second chance at living and that it could be snatched away in an instant. Maybe it was destiny’s idea of a joke, to give him hope of seeing Lambert again only to crush it later.

“-Aiden?” Jaskier’s voice cut through his spiralling thoughts. He looked up at the bard, who was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, frowning.

“I’m sorry, I’ll pay you back for it,” said Aiden. “For everything. I promise, I’ll pay back every cent I owe you. Just don’t –“ Even with all he’d been through, he was still clutching onto some pride because he couldn’t bring himself to beg Jaskier not to throw him out onto the streets.

“Alright, Aiden, why don’t you go sit down. I think we’re overdue a conversation,” said Jaskier, carefully stepping around the puddle of wine and broken glass. “Please,” he tacked on.

Dread pooled heavy in his stomach, but he nodded and went to sit at the kitchen table.

Jaskier followed him out shortly with two cups and a bottle of liquor. He poured them both a drink, and slid one across the table to Aiden.

The scent of the liquor hit him then – harsh and not particularly appetizing, but as familiar as home by now. It was Lambert’s creation, diluted for human consumption. It made something catch in his throat, to have a piece of Lambert here with him. He’d never missed anyone the way he’d missed him these last few months.

“Aiden, I think maybe there’s been a misunderstanding here,” said Jaskier, wrapping both hands around his cup. “You know you don’t owe me anything right? I don’t expect to be paid back for helping you get back on your feet. I meant it when I said you were welcome to spend the winter here.”

“Everything has a price,” Aiden bit out, gripping his own cup like a lifeline.

“Aiden, you are my friend,” said Jaskier, and that startled Aiden enough to jar him out of his panic spiral. The shock must have read on his face because Jaskier gave a short laugh and rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know it takes a good ten years to earn a witcher’s friendship, if Lambert and Geralt are anything to go by. I know we’ve only met a few times. I still consider you a friend. And I’d be a pretty terrible friend not to help you out after everything you’ve been through. Please believe me when I say that I would let any of my friends stay here if they needed to.”

Aiden was still processing that bit of information, but Jaskier was plowing on.

“But also…Lambert is very dear to me,” said Jaskier. He gives a wry smile before adding –“Don’t tell him I said that, he’d combust. But it’s true. I’ve known him almost as long as Geralt, going on twenty years. He’s a dear friend. Losing you devastated him, Aiden. I was worried –“ Jaskier’s voice broke. “I was worried he was going to throw himself in front of the first monster he could find and let it finish the job. I made him promise he’d go home this winter, and I made him promise he’d meet me in the Spring. He’s a man of his word, I hope – gods, I hope it was enough.

So if you won’t believe I’d help you for your own sake, at least believe I’d help you for Lambert’s. As far as I’m concerned, letting you stay here and helping you get your equipment restocked is a small price to pay to have both you and Lambert alive and well.”

Overwhelmed, and all Aiden could think to blurt out was: “Do you want me to kill someone for you? Free of charge?”

Jaskier looked startled and Aiden thought maybe he’d fucked up - the bard had travelled with Wolves, afterall, honorable as they were. Maybe he hadn’t realized exactly the kind of person he was harboring in his home. Then Jaskier cackled. “Oh, now that’s a tempting offer. I’ll let you know if I never need you to do that for me.”

Aiden’s shoulders slumped a bit in relief. “Sorry, that's all I could think of to pay you back. And I will pay you back, somehow. Eventually.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Fine. You can pay me back, somehow, eventually – but much, much later. I will not accept it for at least another few years, at least.”

They lapsed into a silence that wasn’t uncomfortable. Aiden considered his next words carefully. “…It’s hard to trust you,” he admitted.

“I’m sure you’ve had more than enough reason to be distrustful in your long life,” said Jaskier, and there was no offense in his tone. He took a sip from his cup, and barely suppressed a grimace.

“It’s a Cat who did this.”

“…pardon?”

Aiden gestured at himself, at his eye. “Another Witcher sold us out. Not someone I was close to, but someone I knew. Someone I’d have trusted not to turn on his own school.”

“Aiden, that’s terrible,” said Jaskier. “I’m so sorry.”

“If you can’t trust your own school, who can you trust?” Aiden said, finally giving voice to the thought that had plagued him for weeks now.

“Well, for what it's worth, you can trust me – and I’ll do my best to prove that,” said Jaskier. “And come spring, you’ll find Lambert again. If there’s anyone you can trust, its him.”

“I miss him,” said Aiden. “It's nowhere near the longest we’ve been apart, but I still…”

Jaskier hummed sympathetically. “Well, at least we’ve got his nasty little concoctions to remind us of him in the meantime,” he said, making a face at his cup. “Spring will be here before you know it, and we can head north to collect our Wolves.”

*

Aiden was working through drills as best he could in the small living room of Jaskier’s apartment. There wasn’t a lot of room to move but it was mostly about building up dexterity in his right arm anyways.

Jaskier bursted in, arms full of packages. “Aiden, darling! I’ve found a way for you to repay me!” he said with delight.

Aiden immediately felt on his guard. “What is it?”

“You’re going to teach me how to make witcher potions,” said Jaskier, dropping his packages on the kitchen table. “Now I’ve got everything we need to make Swallow, Kiss and Cat. I think so, anyways, I’m going off memory and Geralt never wanted to teach me. If we’re missing anything I can go out for more later.”

“…You want to learn how to make potions,” Aiden repeated dubiously.

“Yes, have wanted to for years, but both Lambert and Geralt are finicky about it.”

“…You bought me potion ingredients,” Aiden realized.

“I bought us potion ingredients,” Jaskier said as he started to unpack what Aiden realized were small glass vials.

It made something in his chest feel too tight, that Jaskier had gone out of his way to get all of this. Most of the ingredients were out of season or monster bits. None of it was cheap, Aiden knew from experience. And more than that, Jaskier was making it sound like Aiden would be doing him a favor.

“I’ll show you what I know,” he said, clearing his throat.

*

“Do you want to come out with me and my friends tonight? I’d love for you to meet them, and they’re very curious about the mysterious Witcher I have living in my quarters,” said Jaskier.

Aiden tensed, contemplating the idea of being in a crowded space like a bar or tavern, unable to keep his eye on every threat, the idea that someone might pick up on his weakness. “I…don’t know,” he said finally.

Jaskier looked at him shrewdly and Aiden couldn’t help but feel like Jaskier could see right through him. It unsettled him. Lambert trusts him, he repeated to himself. He’s helping you, he’s had plenty of opportunities to hurt you and he hasn’t yet.

“Maybe a tavern isn’t the best place to re-introduce you to society,” Jaskier said, turning back to his mirror and fixing his hair. “I know even in normal circumstances they can be a bit much for witcher senses. We’re planning on going to the conservatory tomorrow night though, to look at the meteor shower. It’ll be me, Priscilla, Essi, potentially Priscilla’s date of the week, and Valdo.”

“I don’t want anyone to see me like this,” Aiden admitted quietly.

“You don’t appear injured or ill,” said Jaskier. “I can only tell because I’ve spent twenty years chasing after Geralt and Lambert. I’ve seen you and Lambert spar before, so I know what you’re like at full capacity. Everyone else will see a big scary handsome witcher.”

“…I’ll consider it.”

*

Aiden started to go to market on Jaskier’s behalf. He was baffled that Jaskier just handed him his coin purse without question and didn’t even seem to check its contents when he gave it back. It was a level of trust he’d only ever gotten from Lambert in the past (and that trust was extremely hard won over several years.)

He went early enough that it was quiet, when merchants had only just started setting up shop at dawn.

Jaskier showed him the library and must have pulled some strings with the staff because Aiden could go in and out without question whenever Jaskier was in class. The library was quiet at least, and there were more books here than Aiden had seen in his whole life. He’d never cared for reading that much, but now it was a welcome way to keep his anxieties from eating him alive.

His energy was still in short supply, he still found himself needing to sleep during the day. He still got random bouts of weakness in his arm. But access to food and sleep and medical care had helped immensely. It was slow healing, but healing nonetheless.

*

It took Aiden a while to feel like he was allowed to ask. It wasn’t even a big favor. It was something he would’ve asked from nearly any witcher he got on with well enough. Jaskier had said they were friends, and nothing in the past two months seemed to contradict that.

So while they were eating the supper that Aiden prepared while Jaskier was at work (he was turning into a househusband, and wasn’t that bizarre), Aiden brought it up. “D’you ever spar with Lambert or Geralt?”

“Not with Lambert, but with Geralt sometimes,” said Jaskier. “I was a nobleman’s son, so I did get some training with a sword. Personally, I think I’m a bit shit at it, but maybe I’ve just been around Witchers for too long. I much prefer my knives.”

Aiden already knew that, had clocked the knife that Jaskier carried in his boot, and the one in his belt as well, hidden under his doublet.

“Would you spar with me, some time?” Aiden asked, trying to be nonchalant about it.

“I’m really not going to be much of a challenge for you,” said Jaskier. “I can hold my own with knives but I’m no Witcher.”

Aiden shrugged. “I just need to practice with someone to get used to having a blind spot and no depth perception.”

“Well, there’s hardly any room to practice in here,” said Jaskier, looking at his small apartment critically. “There’s a clearing right outside the city where we used to go as students – mostly to get drunk and do drugs, you know how it is – might be better suited.”

Aiden nodded

A strange gleam came in Jaskier’s eye, a smile slowly spreading on his face. “You need to teach me some Cat Witcher tricks. With the knives and such. Something for me to surprise Geralt with the next time we fight.”

“Of course,” Aiden said with a smile.“Can’t leave all your weapons education to the Wolves. I’ll show you how a real Witcher fights.”

Jaskier laughed, and Aiden felt, for just a moment, like his old self.

*

Things kept finding themselves in Aiden’s bags. Just small things, but things that would make the Path much easier – a sewing kit. A roll of bandages. A flint. A pot to cook in.

He ignored them at first. It was Jaskier, of course it had to be Jaskier, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. He knew Jaskier considered him a friend (and wasn’t that a wild thought), but this still felt too much like charity.

When the bedroll appeared beside his bag, he knew he had to say something.

“Jask,” he said. The bard looked up from where he was grading papers at his desk. “You bought me a bedroll.”

Jaskier blushed. “Ah, well…Yes. I did. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“…You thought I wouldn’t notice a brand-new bedroll appearing next to my stuff.”

“Fine. I was hoping you wouldn’t bring it up. I didn’t think you’d accept it if I just gave it to you outright.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

“Well, look - we’re leaving for Ard Carraigh soon. Lambert would never forgive me if I let you wander out onto the Path with nothing but the clothes on your back,” said Jaskier. “Besides what does it matter? You said you’d pay me back, I believe you, whatever…bloody witchers and their bloody pride” he muttered, returning to the papers he was grading.

Aiden made to leave but stopped. Realized that for all his insistence that he would pay him back, he hadn’t actually said the words. “Thank you, Jaskier.”

“Anytime, my friend.”

*

They were walking down the road heading in the vague direction of Kaer Morhen, when Aiden came to an abrupt halt in the road, signaling Jaskier to stop playing his lute.

Jaskier froze, not hearing anything beyond the rustling of the leaves. “Are we in danger –“

Aiden bolted down the road.

“Aiden – fucking hell.” Jaskier tossed his lute over his shoulder, and sprinted after him. Aiden has clearly recovered very well, Jaskier thought to himself, as he struggled to catch up with the witcher.

They turned a curve in the road and Jaskier ran straight into Aiden’s back as the witcher slid to a halt.

“…Oh,” Jaskier breathed, taking in the scene in front of him.

Lambert stood frozen in the middle of the road, still holding the reins of his horse. Beside him, Geralt dismounted from Roach, throwing a questioning glance between his brother, Aiden, and the bard.

“…Aiden?” Lambert’s voice was so quiet Jaskier almost didn’t hear him.

“Fuck, Lamb, I’m so sorry,” Aiden said, and ran to him.

Lambert ran to meet him halfway, to crush him into a fierce hug. They both sank to their knees in the middle of the trail.

And Lambert started sobbing.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said quietly, tearing his eyes away from them. “Perhaps we should give them a moment?”

“What the hell is going on, Jaskier?” Geralt asked quietly.

Jaskier smiled, leading Geralt and Roach away from the newly reunited couple. “It’s been an interesting winter.”

*

They found a spot to camp that was far enough from the road and from where they’ve left Lambert and Aiden that they’ll get some privacy. Jaskier, honestly, didn’t expect to see either of them again for many months, and he told Geralt as much. Aiden and Lambert had a lot to catch up on, and he couldn’t imagine Lambert wanting to share Aiden’s attention with anyone at the moment.

“I didn’t realize he was such good friends with you,” Geralt said, wrapping one arm around Jaskier and pulling him close. Jaskier basked in the comfort of it after so many months apart.

“Hm.”

“He never told us about Aiden. We suspected he lost someone when he came back this winter grief ridden. You must be close for him to have trusted you with that.”

“Hm…Well, I don’t have the prejudices against Cat witchers that you all have,” said Jaskier, considering. “Anyways, I don’t think he meant to tell me. I just ran into them when they were traveling together, a few times.” He yawned. “I like your brother, he’s been a good friend. Aiden’s pretty good too. Don’t be jealous. You’ll always be my favorite Witcher.”

Geralt laughed softly and pressed a kiss into his hair.

*

It was nearly midsummer and for once, Jaskier had not followed Geralt on the contract. He would not be going into a damn swamp in this heat, no thank you. He was fruitlessly washing the sweat off in their washbasin of tepid water, knowing full well it would do little to actually quell the heat, when there was a knock at his door.

Jaskier opened it, fully expecting to see a maid.

“Oh! Lambert,” Jaskier beamed at him. “Good to see you, my friend!”

“Is Geralt here?” Lambert asked, peering into the room.

“No, on a hunt. Some nasty little beastie in a swamp. Sorry if we stole your contract.”

“Nah, its fine. I just wanted to talk to you alone. Don’t need pretty boy skulking about, listening in,” said Lambert.

Jaskier frowned but stepped aside, waving Lambert in. “Well, come in. How’s Aiden, then? Traveling apart?”

“Uh, no, he’s downstairs,” said Lambert. “We haven’t…really parted ways since….since.”

“Oh lovely, we should all grab a drink together tonight before you head out,” said Jaskier.

“Jask…” Lambert said. “I owe you a debt.”

It was perhaps the most sincere thing Jaskier had ever heard Lambert say. Jaskier opened his mouth but Lambert held up a hand to stop him.

“Let me finish, gods above, bard. I’ve known you long enough to know you won’t let either of us repay you. And I wouldn’t be able to repay you anyways, not if I had a century to try. So - Thank you. For letting him stay in Oxenfurt, for getting him to a healer, for all the gear and the potion ingredients – I’m not stupid. I know he wouldn’t have survived the winter without you,” Lambert’s voice wavers. He clears his throat. “So. Thank you.”

Jaskier felt his heart climb into his throat and had to blink rapidly all of a sudden. “I did what I could. I’m glad he’s alive. You both deserved better than to have everything cut short that way.”

Lambert looked like he was on the edge of tears himself. Jaskier made a split second decision and pulled Lambert into a hug.

To his surprise, he didn’t get stabbed for it. Lambert stiffened but then returned the embrace.

“You’re a good fucking friend, Jask,” Lambert says, voice choked.

Jaskier just gripped him tighter.

*

“Pretty boy,” Lambert said, shoving a tankard of ale across the table to Geralt. “We’ve got to talk.”

They’d returned for Kaer Morhen for the winter, all of them safe under one roof for once. Aiden had been allowed to stay under the combined force of Lambert and Jaskier’s arguing. Geralt had lent his support to Lambert under duress from Jaskier, and finally, that was that.

Ciri was training with Coen, Jaskier had been holed up in their room caught in a frenzy of inspiration that struck him every once in a while. Geralt would have to go remind him to eat at some point.

So Geralt was just minding his own business, feeling at ease, when Lambert sat across from him.

Geralt immediately narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “What do you want?”

“So you’re getting married to the bard,” said Lambert.

“…Yes?”

Lambert nodded at this. “Well. Me and Eskel cornered him while you were out hunting, gave him the whole ‘if you hurt our brother on purpose, they’ll never find your remains’ talk.”

“Lambert,” Geralt growled.

“Relax, he wasn’t even phased. He’s not scared of either of us,” said Lambert. “But that’s not the point. The point is that it’s come to our attention that Jaskier’s family sucks.”

Geralt snorted. “Yeah.”

“So no one is going to give YOU a shovel talk,” said Lambert. “And that just seems unfair. Now, I’ve known the bastard for twenty-odd years, feels like it falls to me.”

“Is this the part where you tell me if I break his heart, you’re going to kick my ass?” said Geralt. “Because I already knew that.”

“Oh no, pretty boy, no no no – I’m simply reminding you that Jaskier saved Aiden’s life,” said Lambert. “Just remember, your bard has someone in his debt who kills people sometimes, for a living.”

“Right,” said Geralt, grimacing.

“So, if you break the bard’s heart, it's not me you’re going to have to worry about,” said Lambert. “Besides, Aiden’s been teaching him stuff. Jaskier can probably take care of it himself.”

Geralt smiled at that. He knew, deep down, that no matter what happened, Jaskier wouldn’t hurt him. And definitely wouldn’t call in a favor to have him assassinated. But there was something that made him glad that Jaskier had other people looking out for him. Even if it was his own brother and a Cat he only somewhat trusted.

“The fuck you smiling about,”

“Hm. Just happy, I suppose,” said Geralt quietly. Lambert looked happier too, now that he was traveling with his Cat more often, now that they’ve sorted themselves out. “Gonna ask Aiden to marry you soon, then?”

Lambert choked a little on his drink. He glared at Geralt “Fuck you, that’s none of your business.”

There was an interesting shade of red creeping over his neck.

“Hm,” said Geralt. “So you already asked, then.” He ducked when Lambert threw a spoon at him.

“You aren’t invited to the wedding,” Lambert snapped.

Geralt just laughed.