Chapter Text
Aiden didn’t consider himself to be an especially superstitious man, but even he had to admit that it was a strange sort of luck to be hired to kill a Witcher.
The man seated across from him practically reeked of nerves as he laid out the details of the job, eyes darting back and forth between Aiden’s hands and the swords strapped to his back. He’d certainly been quick to offer a job after noticing the Cat inscribed on the medallion hanging around his neck, lured in by the Cat School’s infamous grey area when it came down to killing other people.
It was a simple enough gig: find the Witcher responsible for killing a prominent noble in the area and bring back his head as proof that the deed was done. There was even a not insignificant amount of gold offered if he managed to get the job done quickly. He would be stupid to refuse such an easy payday with winter--and fewer hunting jobs--coming up.
And yet, he couldn’t seem to ignore the unease that itched beneath his skin.
“Why’d he kill him?”
The human looked startled by the question. “What?”
“You said the Witcher was hired to do a job by this Lord Reimes,” Aiden said slowly, wondering if he was wrong to think the man’s halting speech was nerves or just stupidity. “Why would he kill the man who was going to pay him?”
The guide carefully lowered his shields to take in the stranger’s emotions. Immediately, his mind was awash with the usual nervousness, fear, and anxiety.
But was he anxious to speak to a Witcher or to lie about the real reasons for meeting today?
“He didn’t stop to tell us his rationale for murdering the man who’d hired him.”
“What was he hired to do?”
“There were reports of some barghest in the area harassing the cattle. Several of the local villagers petitioned Lord Reimes to find someone to kill the beasts.”
“Did he kill the barghest?” Aiden interrupted before the man continued into another description of how unwarranted the murder was. It would be his luck if he was attacked by a pack of the wolf-like creatures while hunting another Witcher.
“Yes,” came the immediate answer, “We discovered he’d murdered Lord Reimes after they met to give the Witcher his pay. My benefactor, Lord Weiss, was quick to seek out someone who could restore justice for Lord Reimes’ family.”
Aiden worked very hard not to scoff at the false note of grief in his voice. He doubted any servant was actually sad to see their lord die unless it meant losing their income.
“And you’re sure the man actually paid him the agreed upon amount?”
The implication in his question was clear.
This time the man’s surprise was replaced by a sneer. “The job is to kill the Witcher not to ask questions,” he snapped. “Unless you don’t think you can kill the beast.”
The Cat scowled at the moniker. Part of him wondered if he should just stab the man and take whatever coin he could from the body.
As if sensing the dark direction of the guide’s thoughts, the messenger hastily backtracked. The sensation of his fear was a familiar clammy chill in Aiden’s mind. “I’ll pay you half up front and my lord will have the rest when you show up with the Witcher’s head.”
The bag of coin thumped dully when it hit the table and Aiden sighed, scrubbing a hand over his short hair.
The Cat School was known for their willingness to do the jobs the other schools preferred to look down on, preferring survival to the fragile morality of picking and choosing who deserved to die. Aiden was well used to the sensation of blood drying on his hands and the desperate panic that inevitably was replaced by the stillness of death. He would kill and kill again until the day when he was too slow to avoid the same fate.
Maybe it was a good thing that he was the last of his school.
The bigger issue lay in his target. Hunting another Wither promised to be far more difficult than tracking any creature that he typically was sent after. A Witcher of any school would be trained to defend themselves and possessed enough magic to ensure they would remain dangerous even if they were unarmed. That was assuming they were one of the rare few that didn’t also claim the abilities of a sentinel or guide. Even if he did believe the overly simplified version of this unnamed lord’s death, this job promised nothing but trouble for him.
“My lord also wanted to extend a second offer,” the messenger continued hastily when the silence began to drag like a blade over a whetstone, “He offers double the amount if you are able to bring the Witcher back alive.”
Aiden stared at the human for a long moment, weighing his options before he reached out to grab the offered coin.
“Consider it done.”
They said the Cat School embedded the same predatory skills of their namesake in each of the men who survived the Trials to take on the title of Witcher.
Whether or not that was true, he knew from experience that the urge to hunt, to kill always seemed to linger beneath the wicked smiles and quick intelligence he showed the world. It was more difficult to manage as a guide, of course. He had to worry about the inherent backlash that came from in the moments when his victims drew their last breath. In truth, he preferred hunting creatures to humans because it simplified the conflict into the familiar struggle without the confusing mixture of emotions or the terrible stillness that came after someone slipped away from the mortal world. He told himself the sensation was familiar enough to avoid affecting him.
After all, he and death were old friends.
Aiden started by returning to the place where the Witcher had apparently murdered the noble in cold blood. It was a modest sized manor surrounded by a wooden fortification and a watch tower that overlooked the sleepy looking village nearby. Experience taught him that the villagers were likely to be more trouble than help so he didn’t bother to ask around for any information, preferring to remain nondescript for as long as possible.
Instead, he circled the area until he finally came across the abandoned camp only a few miles from the manor house. He scanned the withered remains of a few healing herbs the Witcher must have found nearby and considered it proof enough that he’d found the man he’d been hired to kill. The Witcher must have taken the time to replace whatever potions and oils he’d been running low on while he was surrounded by such lush greenery. From there, it wasn’t difficult to find the hoofprints that signaled the Witcher’s path away from there.
Witchers, he’d found, were too used to being predators that they rarely recognized themselves to be prey until it was too late.
As far as he knew, the Cat school was the only Witchers that weren’t bogged down with the morality and pretentiousness of the other schools. It wasn’t that they lacked morals, it was that they were very aware of how often good and evil were shades of the same grey. He preferred to think in simpler terms. Easy pay. Avoiding starvation. Keeping himself alive to hunt another day.
Simple.
Even with these guiding forces, Aiden found himself contemplating what he would do when he caught up with the Witcher he’d been sent to kill. There were only a small number of Witchers left on the Continent, fewer still that could claim to possess the abilities of a sentinel or a guide. It wouldn’t be long before their kind was entirely wiped out.
Still, it was stupid to draw more attention to a group that was already hated by humans and targeted by the hunters that sought new sentinels and guides to sell to whatever army would pay them the highest rate. Drawing the attention of either would only lead to more danger for the rest of their kind. Better in the long run for Aiden and his like to remove someone like this.
Without a horse of his own, he was forced to push himself to travel faster to keep up with the other man’s pace. His body was used to the strain after so many years of wandering, but it left him more than a little irritated by the strain. It still wasn’t enough to make him consider buying a horse of his own.
“Nasty creatures,” he grumbled as he skirted around the droppings left behind by the other Witcher’s mount. “Just as likely to bite you as they will kick you.”
Regardless of his opinions, the beast had managed to carry the Witcher east towards the coast at relatively quick speed. He would have been worried that he might lose them both, but his prey shifted directions unexpectedly on the third day. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were returning to the same manor where the Witcher had murdered the lord Aiden had been paid to avenge.
“What are you doing?” he asked the hoofprints set into the soft mud beneath the trees.
The rustling branches overhead didn’t offer any explanation.
Aiden sighed and forced himself to return to the steady, ground eating lope that experience has taught him he could maintain for days if need be. It helped that he preferred to travel as light as possible, forgoing heavier metal plate armor for elvish leathers. His boots were well worn and soft soled to ensure that no one but the birds in the trees above him would see or hear him coming.
Thankfully, by the time the sun was just beginning to dip beneath the distant horizon, he’d finally closed the distance between himself and his prey. He slowed to a prowl and took extra care to avoid making any noise while he got his first look at the Witcher he’d been paid to kill.
His first thought when he laid eyes on the other warrior was the mental equivalent to an exclamation point.
The Witcher’s broad shoulders are covered with ropes of lean muscles and an intriguing pattern of new and old scars. He moved with the sort of contained power that made Aiden want to throw himself at him just to see if the other warrior might be strong enough to pin him. He wanted to drag his fingers along the edge of the thin tunic and pants that ripple with each movement as he brushed down the roan gelding with confident strokes.
More scars were revealed when the man shifted back to carefully check the horse’s hooves for any stones or injuries that might have occured on the journey. Aiden’s eyes skate over strong features and a jawline designed to be nibbled and teased. He was too far away to see the color of the Witcher’s eyes, but he could make out a long scar bisecting one dark eyebrow up to his close cropped hair.
He was beautiful in the way a finely balanced blade was--all terrifying potential waiting to be wielded by the right hand.
Aiden must have made a sound, some quick inhale or soft curse, because a moment later the Witcher’s head snapped up and focused on the trees where the Cat was hidden. A knife stood ready in his palm as the warrior scanned the woods around him for the source of whatever noise had given Aiden away.
The guide ducked behind a tree, silently grateful for the fast reflexes that had kept him from being spotted even as he resisted the urge to curse viciously. He wasn’t just hunting a Witcher--he was hunting a fucking sentinel .
A Witcher sentinel no less.
It was bad enough that he would have to work around the added enhancements of a Witcher. Now he’d have to remain absolutely still until he could be sure that the sentinel had finally shifted his attention away. A single snapped branch would be enough to give his position and ruin whatever chance he had to choose how he wanted to proceed. Experience taught him that his chances of success relied on choosing his battleground with care.
Carefully, he released the steel shields he’d erected around his mind to reach out for the nameless Witcher.
As soon as he brushed against the other man-- suspicion, wary focus, loneliness --Aiden was forced to press his fist against his mouth to keep from crying out in surprise. The other Witcher was, well he was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Instead of the jarring press of another human’s emotions, the guide felt not unlike a sword sliding home in a sheathe made just for it. The man’s mind felt like it was reaching out to meet Aiden with an eagerness that was breathtaking.
For the first time in his life, he understood why moths chose to dive into fire.
All he wanted to do was give in to the urge to bury himself in the warm kernel of power that rested at the center of the other Witcher’s mind. He wanted to soothe away the rough edges left behind by the days of travel and whatever lingering unhappiness from the conflict with the nobleman. It hung like a stormcloud over the other man, coloring his mind in shades of grey and blue. He wanted to see if it would burn as sweetly with desire and happiness.
Without looking, Aiden could feel the moments when the other Witcher’s focus lingered on the tree he was hidden behind. It made him wonder if he felt the pull as strongly as he did. Was he waiting for some explanation for why his heart was racing in his chest?
Eventually, the sentinel’s focus returned to his horse and the various tasks that came with making camp for the evening. Aiden kept his focus on the emotions trickling in in fits and bursts as he worked. There was irritation that burst to life when a rough splinter embedded in his palm and the deep satisfaction that came a moment after Aiden caught him staring up at the first stars of the evening above him. It was a painfully intimate way to spend an evening with a stranger he was meant to kill.
He waited until the pop and crackle of the wood being eaten away by the fire was enough to cover the sounds of his movements to slip away into the night.
The next morning, Aiden lounged comfortably in the boughs of a large oak that hung over the road leading back towards the manor. He was only a few miles away from the destination he’d guessed the other Witcher was moving toward. The question he couldn’t answer was why.
Why return to the location where he’d be hunted for the crimes he’d committed? It was far too much of a risk for any Witcher--sentinel or not--to manage on his own. Humans had always outnumbered them enough to make it far too dangerous to attract their ire or attention for long. No amount of strength or enhancements would save you from an army hunting you down.
There had to be something more that he was missing. Some key bit of information that Lord Weiss’ men had withheld while they summoned an assassin to finish the job. They’d been willing to pay far more than the usual rate to ensure the Witcher responsible was taken care of quickly or returned to be brutalized by their own men.
His mind remained fixed on the problem as the first light of dawn trickled in through the treetops and the distant sounds of horse hooves moved closer.
There was a faint snick and then--
“Fuck!”
Aiden grinned and sat up from his vantage point to look over the trap he’d laid the night before. It had been a bitch to create something that wouldn’t get tangled in the Witcher’s horse or end with the animal trampling the trap when it spooked. He looked through the branches with satisfaction to see the gelding snorting and stamping a few feet away while its rider dangled from the treetops.
He leapt from the tree with all the grace of his school’s namesake and eyed the other Witcher. In the light of day, he was able to add in the details he’d been missing from his brief look the day before. Even with a scowl marring his features, he couldn’t stop the bone deep satisfaction at being able to look at the man who’d kept him up all night face to face.
Unfortunately, he was the only one who seemed excited to see the other.
“Who the fuck are you?” the sentinel demanded.
It shouldn’t have been charming to watch the stranger glower at him while he dangled by one leg. Especially not when Aiden was still trying to decide how or if he should go about killing him.
The guide gave the other Witcher a wicked smirk. “I’m the man hired to kill you.”