Chapter Text
“Come with me to Kaer Morhen,” Lambert says.
He doesn’t really mean to say it; it just sort of slips out. But it’s been building for a while. Every spring, when he and Aiden meet up in Ard Carraigh, Lambert is sleek and well-fed and healthy, fresh from four months with his pack, being fed to bursting and pampered and fucked senseless whenever he pleases. Oh, there’s hard work at Kaer Morhen: walls to repair, wyverns to kill, wood to chop. But it’s a time of rest all the same, and Lambert takes full advantage of it. But Aiden - Aiden never looks rested, when they meet. He’s always far too thin, and usually dirty, like he’s been holed up in a cave or an abandoned hut somewhere. And he never smells...sated, the way Lambert knows he smells after a winter with his pack, a heat in his alphas’ arms. Aiden’s got a winter heat, same as Lambert, but Lambert doesn’t think he’s spent it with anyone in all the dozen years they’ve known each other, which is frankly not healthy and also not fair. Aiden’s the best man Lambert knows; even if the Path is hard and a witcher’s life is full of pain, he should have this at least: a heat each year with people who treat him right, and a few months of peace and comfort to recover from the rigors of the Path.
Now here they are in Ard Carraigh, ready to split up for the winter, and Lambert can’t bear the thought of Aiden going off to - to wherever he goes that doesn’t have enough food, or hot springs to bathe in, or grumbly sweet alphas to look after him for a little while.
So - “Come with me,” he says again. “My pack’ll like you, and the food’s good.”
He can’t read Aiden’s expression for a moment - it seems to go through eight or ten emotions, all at once, before settling on...resignation? But his voice is cheerful enough when he says, “Alright then. If you’re sure.”
*
Aiden knows he’s worrying Lambert as they head up into the Blue Mountains, the two of them and their heavily-laden horses heading for the wickedly dangerous Trail to Kaer Morhen, but he doesn’t think he can keep from saying something unfortunate if he says anything, so he keeps his mouth shut.
He stopped spending winters with the caravan almost two decades ago, just as soon as he could survive a winter alone. Maybe a year or two too soon, in fact. Those first couple of winters were much, much closer calls than he really likes to think about. He holed up in an old mine the first year, and a lord’s summer house the second, and nearly froze solid both times, not to mention getting hungry enough that he ate the summer house out of rats. But even that was better than the caravan. Oh, he got enough food at the caravan, and kept warm enough too, but...well. There’s a price for everything, in the caravan, and the price for food and shelter during the colder months, if you’re an omega…
Well, Aiden prefers the chance of freezing solid, let’s put it like that. And these days he’s found a decent spot, an old hunting lodge or something that’s reasonably well-insulated. There’s usually a fair amount of game around, though when his heat hits he can’t get any hunting done, so he’s usually hungry as hell by the end of the winter.
Still better than going back to the caravan. And going down to the warmer southlands...well, there’s a decent chance the caravan would find him, down there. But no sensible Cat stays in the north for the winter, so Aiden’s safe in Kaedwen. Safe enough, at least.
Lambert’s never suggested he wants to stay with Aiden, wants to stay away from Kaer Morhen, but - well - maybe it’s different when there’s only two alphas? Old Vesemir is a beta, Aiden thinks, and so too is the White Wolf’s bard. With only two alphas, they won’t be able to spend the whole winter pinning Lambert down, so he probably gets plenty of time to sleep and eat and generally relax, which would explain why he always looks so healthy at the end of the winter.
But if he asked Aiden to come with him this winter...well, that probably means even two alphas have gotten to be a bit too much for him. Maybe the bard is an alpha - sure, there’s no way a human could ever overpower a witcher, but the other Wolves might hold Lambert down for him. Or - dimeritium works on witchers, at least enough to give an attacker an edge.
Aiden’s not sure whether to feel sort of vaguely flattered or utterly betrayed. On the one hand, if Lambert trusts him enough to rely on him to help divide the alphas’ attentions - to be his ally - then that’s fairly flattering. Lambert doesn’t trust easily or quickly. But on the other hand, if this is Lambert’s way of bringing a substitute victim, someone to distract the alphas from him for a winter…
Aiden didn’t think Lambert would do that. But he doesn’t know how else to interpret ‘My pack will like you.’ Yeah, they’ll like him. He’ll be a nice fresh tasty treat, won’t he, someone new to play with.
He could have said no. Lambert can’t actually drag him up the mountain. But he’s a damned fool, and even if he’s never said it out loud, he loves this foul-mouthed, hot-tempered Wolf of his. And he survived decades of winters with the caravan; two alphas - three maybe if the bard is one too - can’t be worse than a dozen, and if he can protect Lambert for a winter...well...he’s willing to do whatever it takes. It can’t be worse than getting trampled by a chort, or half-drowned by a selkiemore, or - well.
It’ll be all winter, instead of just once the way a monster fight is, but -
Aiden will do a lot of painful things for his Wolf. What’s one more, after all?
*
Lambert has no fucking clue what’s wrong with Aiden. Surely spending a winter in even a fairly old and crumbling keep, with enough food and decent fires and time and safety to sleep, and two alphas who Lambert will admit - if with much grumbling and grousing - are genuinely sweet and pretty fucking good in bed - well, that’s got to be better than starving in the wilderness, or whatever the fuck Aiden’s been doing. Sure, they’re Wolves, so there’s likely to be some tension, and they’re going to be a lot rowdier than Aiden is probably used to - Aiden is probably going to find the puppy piles in front of the fire, and the regular wrestling matches out in the snow, to be disconcerting - but Eskel’s a sweetheart and Geralt’s genuinely funny when he relaxes enough to stop grunting, Jaskier is amusing as hell, and - well, alright, old Vesemir is going to be grumpy about Aiden being a Cat, but he’ll get over it eventually.
But Aiden looks like he’s walking into a prison, or a torture chamber, and he won’t say anything. Usually Aiden’s damn near as talkative as the bard, cheerful and voluble and curious about everything, but he’s barely said ten words together since they left Ard Carraigh. He won’t tell Lambert what’s bothering him, either.
Hopefully actually getting to Kaer Morhen will help. If nothing else, Eskel is better at coaxing people to talk than Lambert is.
The keep is a big dark hulk against the side of the mountain, and Lambert heaves a sigh of relief when he sees it, and another when he spots the bright spot of color high on the battlements that has to be the bard. Jaskier’s even better at talking than Eskel.
The portcullis creaks upwards as they reach the moat, and Lambert leads the way in and swings down off his horse, passing its reins to Jaskier, who has come down to meet them, and leaping forward to greet his pack-brothers. Eskel tackles him to the cobblestones, cradling his head in one big hand so he doesn’t crack it open, and Lambert yelps in gleeful greeting and manages to flip Eskel over just in time for Geralt to join their tussle. Geralt gnaws cheerfully on Lambert’s shoulder above the pauldron; Eskel ruffles Lambert’s hair and laughs when Lambert snaps at him.
“Hey there, little wolf,” Eskel says over Geralt’s happy growls.
“Fuck you,” Lambert says merrily.
“So,” he hears Jaskier say. “You must be Aiden.”
And Aiden, sounding as wary and worried as Lambert has ever heard him, says only, “Yes.”
Lambert wriggles free of his pack-brothers, who are perfectly happy to keep wrestling with each other, and hauls himself to his feet. “Hey, bard,” he says, and goes over to take his horse’s reins back and ruffle Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier squawks and bats at his hands. “Yeah, this’s Aiden.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jaskier says to Aiden. “Lambert’s told us...almost nothing about you, actually, but what little he has said has been extremely complimentary.”
“Thank you,” Aiden says tightly.
*
Aiden is very confused. He thought - well, he thought the alphas were going to have Lambert right here in the godsdamned courtyard, is what he thought, and he was really fucking confused about why Lambert seemed so eager to greet them. But they let him go. They let him go, easy as anything, and are just sort of rolling around with each other, laughing.
And the bard’s a beta. So there’s only the two alphas to worry about after all.
And Lambert is smiling up at him like this is...normal.
Aiden dismounts his horse and leads her into the stables after Lambert, and untacks her and brushes her down. One of the alphas - the pale one, Geralt - comes over and leans on the stall door, chin on his hand. “Nice horse,” he says. Aiden tenses, waiting for whatever comes next, but there’s just...silence. Like that’s all Geralt wanted to say.
“Part Zerrikanian racer,” Aiden bites out at last.
Geralt hums. “Thought so, with that conformation. What’s her name?”
“Apple,” Aiden admits.
“Hm,” Geralt says, and wanders away. Aiden finishes brushing Apple down, wondering what that was about. There didn’t seem to be a threat in that anywhere, nor a demand.
He’s just hanging up the brush on the hook outside the stall when Geralt comes wandering back and holds something out. An apple. “For Apple,” the alpha says.
Aiden hesitates. “...What’ll I owe you?” he demands at last, through clenched teeth.
Geralt pauses, and a little frown line forms between his eyebrows. “For an apple?”
Aiden jerks a nod.
“...Nothing,” Geralt says slowly. “It’s just an apple. For your horse. I like horses.”
Aiden eyes him warily, and reaches out slowly to take the apple. Geralt doesn’t grab his hand, or make any other sort of threatening motion. He just waits as Aiden takes the apple and backs away, and turns to walk off towards the stall where the bigger alpha - Eskel - is watching Lambert brush down his nameless gelding.
Aiden feeds Apple the apple, feeling even more confused.
*
Lambert leads the way into the keep, following his nose; Vesemir has clearly been cooking all day. Probably he spotted them from the east tower, and put a couple of haunches of venison on to roast. Vesemir is waiting in the main hall, looking stern as always, and Lambert stops in front of him. “I brought a...friend,” he says.
Vesemir looks over his shoulder at Aiden, hesitating in the doorway. “A Cat,” he observes flatly.
“Yeah,” Lambert says. “But he’s my age. Wasn’t involved in that fucking tournament.”
Vesemir scowls harder. “You. Cat. Come here.”
Aiden comes forward warily, stopping at Lambert’s shoulder. Lambert puts a hand on his back in silent support.
“Why’re you here, then?” Vesemir asks him bluntly.
“Lambert asked,” Aiden says, voice a little shaky.
“I did,” Lambert agrees. “He’s half-starved at the end of every winter, and half-frozen too.”
Vesemir considers this, eyeing Aiden dubiously. Aiden swallows hard and says, “I haven’t been back to the caravan in twenty years. I’ve seen two of my brothers since then, and not recently. I bring no harm to Kaer Morhen or its Wolves.”
Vesemir scowls harder, and Aiden cringes a little, pressing back against Lambert’s hand. There’s a long, tense pause. And then Vesemir nods.
“You can stay, Cat,” he says, and then, to Lambert, “Welcome home, pup.”
Lambert feels the tension drain out of his shoulders. He nods gratitude to Vesemir, and tugs gently on Aiden’s belt. “C’mon, let’s go get your stuff settled before supper.”
Aiden follows him out of the hall, looking far more shaken than Lambert likes. But at least he’s here, and Vesemir has given him his blessing, however reluctantly. They’ll get their things put down and have supper, and everyone will relax a bit, and this will be fine.
*
Aiden sits down on the side of the bed and scrubs his hands over his face as Lambert bustles about getting their things tidied onto shelves and into chests. Fuck. This is going to be a really unpleasant winter, with the pack leader hating him. But it can’t be worse than the year the Grandmaster decided not to shield him at all, so…
There’s only two alphas, he reminds himself. Only two. He can survive this.
“Hey,” Lambert says. “Vesemir’s...well, he’s not all bark and no bite, but the worst he’ll do is make you go run the battlements for a while.”
Aiden takes a deep breath. “And - the alphas?”
“He makes them run the battlements, too,” Lambert says, like he doesn’t quite understand the question.
Aiden snarls a little. “No. What’s - what’s the worst they’ll do?” He’s here, after all. There’s no point in being fucking coy about it.
Lambert turns and blinks at him, looking...honestly confused. “Um...during training? Eskel’s got a really fucking annoying Quen. And Geralt’s too damn fast, it’s fucking irritating, every time I think I’ve cornered him he just eels out of the way.”
Aiden fists his hands in the blankets so he won’t try to shake the words out of Lambert. “Not in training. What are they going to do?”
Lambert sinks slowly to his knees at Aiden’s feet, looking up at him in obvious dismay. “Aiden. They’re not going to do anything to you. I don’t know what you’re worried about, but it’s not gonna happen.”
Aiden stares at him. The words don’t make sense. “They’re...alphas,” he says slowly. “They...they let you have food, and shelter, and then they want...payment.”
“What the hell,” Lambert breathes. “What the hell. What the absolute fuck are Cats thinking? No. They don’t let me have fucking anything. I’m a Wolf, and they’re my pack, and since you’re here as my guest, so are you.”
“Are you trying to tell me they don’t fuck you?” Aiden demands incredulously.
“...They fuck me, sure,” Lambert says. “When I ask. They’re pretty fucking good at it. But if I don’t want ‘em, they leave me be. They’re happy enough with each other and Jaskier. They’ll leave you be, too, unless you ask.”
Aiden stares at him in disbelief. “They’ll leave me be.”
“Yes,” Lambert says firmly. “I mean, I figured you might want to let ‘em help you through your heat, but if you don’t want to, there’s a pretty decent heat-room up in the west tower. And - and I can stay with you, if you like.” He swallows. “I was gonna maybe ask if you wanted to spend mine with me. But if you don’t want anything to do with Geralt and Eskel, that’s fine. Fucking hell, Aiden, did you think I was bringing you here to be - to be some sort of chew toy for my pack?”
“Yes?” Aiden says faintly.
Lambert reels backwards, falling flat on his ass. “Fucking cock,” he spits. “Sweet fucking Melitele wept.” He scrambles to his feet, staring at Aiden in stark horror. “You thought I’d - you thought -”
He whirls and flees, the door slamming against the wall as he flings it open, and Aiden sits there on the bed that smells of Lambert, half stunned and utterly at a loss.
*
Lambert finds himself on the battlements, his breath making little white clouds in the chilly air. Kreve’s crooked cock. No wonder Aiden’s been so fucking quiet - no wonder he’s been so miserable.
He thought Lambert would bring him here as - as some sort of awful toy for Geralt and Eskel. He let Lambert bring him here. Lambert can’t decide whether he’s horribly honored that Aiden would let him do that, or just horrified that Aiden would think that of him. He’s put himself between Aiden and half a hundred monsters, he’s slept beside him and guarded his sleep, he’s eaten Aiden’s food and made potions for Aiden to use -
And Aiden still thinks he’d betray him that badly.
Lambert realizes he’s making a keening sound deep in his throat, and his hands hurt where he’s clutched at the rough stone of the battlements. His best friend - the man he’s started to think he might love, as dearly as he loves his pack - thinks he’d betray him. Gods. Fucking hell.
He hasn’t felt pain like this since - since Voltehre died. It’s not physical pain - Lambert knows how to deal with physical pain. You grit your teeth and drink a Swallow and stitch up anything that’s bleeding and splint anything that’s crooked. Physical pain is bearable.
This is something deep in his chest, like his heart has cracked right through.
“Lam?” Eskel calls from the bottom of the stairs. “What’s wrong?”
Lambert can’t find words. Eskel comes hurrying up the stairs and wraps Lambert up in one of the all-encompassing hugs which are always so comforting. “Little wolf,” Eskel murmurs. “What happened?”
“Fuck, Eskel,” Lambert says, turning to knot his fists in Eskel’s gambeson. “He thought I brought him here for you and Geralt to - to -” He can’t even say it.
“He what,” Eskel says flatly.
Lambert tucks his head under Eskel’s chin, huddling as close as he can get. “He said - fuck, the Cats are so fucked up. Said the alphas let him have food and shelter, and then made him pay for it.”
“I can guess how,” Eskel says grimly. “Melitele wept.” His hands stroke Lambert’s back, heavy and warm and soothing.
“He thought I’d - thought I’d fucking betray him like that,” Lambert chokes out.
“Fuck,” Eskel whispers. “Oh, Lam.”
Lambert shudders and clings to Eskel, wondering how the hell this has gone so terribly wrong.
Vaguely, he hears Geralt’s footstep on the stairs, Eskel’s quiet murmuring, and Geralt leaving again, but all of that seems very far away, somewhere past the silent keening filling his mind and the tight embrace of Eskel’s arms that is all that’s keeping him from flying apart.
*
Aiden stares at the doorway for a while as the door swings on its hinges. Apparently he has royally fucked up, worse than maybe he ever has before. He’s kind of waiting for Vesemir to appear and rescind his permission for Aiden to stay, tell him to get the hell out of Kaer Morhen forever, but the person who actually shows up, almost half an hour after Lambert fled, is the bard.
“So,” Jaskier says, stepping into the room and sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, so obviously harmless that even now Aiden can’t take his presence as a threat. “Apparently there’s been a really spectacular misunderstanding.”
“Yeah,” Aiden says faintly.
“I’ve been elected to come talk to you because I am, first, an outsider to this keep, and second, not an alpha, and third, not a witcher, so frankly if you want to knock me over and run away there’s not much I could do to stop you,” the bard says evenly. “You gonna hear me out, or d’you want to head for the stables?”
“...Am I allowed to stay?” Aiden asks, startled.
Jaskier gives him a crooked smile. “Yeah, you are. If you want to.”
Aiden swallows. “I’ll hear you out.”
Jaskier nods. “Alright. So. If I’ve gathered correctly from what Geralt said Lambert said to Eskel - so this may have gotten a bit garbled - you thought you were going to have to...put up with Geralt and Eskel’s attentions in exchange for your welcome here?”
Aiden nods.
“Alright. That’s not how things work here.” Jaskier’s smile gets broader. “Geralt and Eskel and Lambert do all fuck each other - and me, these days - but not in payment for anything. Just because it’s fun. If you stay, all you’re expected to do is help with chores and attend training. Which, for the record, I have to do too, and really I don’t think it’s quite fair to get me out of bed at the crack of dawn just because the Wolves are all insane.”
“That’s it?” Aiden asks incredulously.
“That’s it,” Jaskier confirms. “I don’t know what the fuck your School is like, but the Wolves are a pack, and that means they’re family. They look after each other. They care about each other. And since Lambert clearly cares about you, that means you’re pack.”
“I’m a Cat,” Aiden rasps.
“And I’m a mostly-human bard, but Geralt brought me home, and Vesemir growled at me a bit, and now I’m part of the pack,” Jaskier says evenly.
“Oh,” Aiden says. It doesn’t make any sense - he’s never even bothered to imagine that other Schools might do things differently, might not treat their omegas as toys for the alphas to use. But if this is true - well, if this is true, then it makes Lambert’s offer make a lot more sense. Lambert wouldn’t bring Aiden somewhere just to hurt him. He was offering safety, sanctuary, pack not clowder. “I. Um.”
Fuck, Lambert looked gutted.
“I should apologize to Lambert,” he says quietly.
Jaskier meets his eyes squarely, and gives him a solemn nod.