Hellooo :) I would like to request an imagine where the reader is Geralt`s child surprise (an adult at this time though, not super young like Ciri) and she is struggling by choosing not to eat? Sorry if this is too triggering I would understand if this cannot be done. Thank you
A/N: I hope you like this babe :) I really like writing the boys with their Child Surprise and like just wholesome dad figure sort of stuff, it’s super sweet!
Warnings: mentions of not eating, potential E.D. please don't read if this could be triggering
You carefully pushed the door to the Great Room open just enough so that you could see what was going on.
Those who inhabited the keep for the winter were sitting around a table eating dinner. Eskel, Lambert, and Coen sat on one side of the table while Jaskier and Vesemir sat on the other side.
Just go in there and have a little bite with them, Y/N. It isn’t that difficult.
You rubbed your temple, shaking your head.
“No, no, no.” You told yourself.
The door closed as you turned to go back down the hall.
The war going on inside of your head was tormenting you to an almost new extreme. You thought you would be able to make it through the winter, to make yourself eat when everyone else did. But now only two weeks into your stay at the fortress, you were beginning to lose all hope.
You opened the door at the end of the hall. Just as you had pushed the door open, Geralt was pulling it from his side. You let out a surprised squeak, bringing your hand up to your mouth.
“Geralt! You scared me!”
“You should be listening better to your surroundings.” He chided.
You rolled your eyes at him.
“It’s a bit difficult to listen for a silent witcher.”
“Where are you going?” He asked. “Dinner is ready.”
“I, um, I just wanted to go grab that book for Jaskier. The one we found in Novigrad.”
“Does he need the book now?” Geralt raised a brow.
“I think he’d enjoy it.” You nodded, slipping past the witcher. “And besides, I don’t want to forget about it.”
He nodded once, but he didn’t buy your excuse. Your heart was beating far too fast.
As you hurried away, disappearing up the spiral staircase, Geralt’s eyes followed you.
For the last few days, you had been acting rather odd.
During the first week of your arrival at Kaer Morhen, you joined the witchers and the bard for meals– namely breakfast and dinner. But over the last three days or so, Geralt had noticed you seemed to be avoiding eating with everyone. You’d sleep in past breakfast or make yourself busy during dinner.
It wouldn’t have been such an issue if Geralt didn’t know about your history of such behaviors. You struggled with eating in the past.
The White Wolf joined everyone in the Great Hall, though he didn’t get any of the stew.
“What’s wrong, Geralt? Afraid of Lambert’s cookin’?” Coen teased.
“I thought Eskel was in charge of dinner tonight.”
“Lambert had a new recipe he wanted to try.” Eskel shook his head.
“Gods help us.” Geralt muttered under his breath.
“Fuck you lot! I won’t make none of you anything again!” Lambert waved his hand in the air.
“Is Y/N on her way down?” Jaskier’s question was directed to the White Wolf.
Geralt furrowed his brow.
“She hasn’t come down yet?”
Jaskier shook his head in reply.
The witcher looked towards the door, his brows furrowed.
“What’s wrong, wolf?” Vesemir spoke quietly.
“Y/N…. I think something may be wrong with her.”
“She has been acting a little strange lately.”
Geralt suspected so, but he wasn’t sure if maybe it was his bond with you that made him feel that way. Hearing that Vesemir also thought the same validated his feelings.
“Did someone do or say something to upset her?” Coen suggested.
“Y/N isn’t one to let words get to her.” Geralt shook his head a little.
“Perhaps she’s come to realize that she has to spend the rest of winter here in our splendid fortress.” Lambert snickered.
Geralt hummed, disagreeing with his brother.
He pushed himself to his feet and started to leave the table.
“Where are you going?” Jaskier asked.
“To see if she’s alright.”
***
As three heavy knocks echoed off of the stone walls in your room, you jumped. Your eyes flickered over to the door, listening carefully.
“Y/N? Can I come in?” Geralt’s voice came from the other side of the door.
You sighed, rubbing your brow.
“Yes, come in.” You closed the book in your lap.
Geralt entered your room, golden eyes curiously looking around for a brief moment. Then his gaze settled on you.
“What happened to getting Jaskier’s book?”
You looked at him for a few moments, trying to think of a good answer.
“You were right. It can wait for another time.”
Geralt nodded his head.
“Were you planning on joining us for dinner?”
You opened your mouth to speak, but decided against it. You shook your head, lips pressed together in a firm line.
“Why not?”
“I-I just….” You trailed off.
“Lambert really isn’t as bad of a cook as we all tease him for.” Geralt moved further into the room, opting for a seat on the edge of your bed.
“I know. He cooks nearly as well as he runs his mouth.”
Geralt chuckled.
“Are you feeling ill?”
“No.” You answered. “Why do you ask?”
The witcher was quiet for a few moments, looking across your room to the window.
“Just…. You’ve been acting odd for the last week.”
“Just adjusting, I think.” You shrugged your shoulders. Was he on to you? What if he knew? How would he react? What would he say?
Your heart began to beat faster and your palms became sweaty from nervousness.
But what got Geralt’s attention most was the sound of your stomach growling.
His eyes found the fire in the hearth, a soft breath escaping his lips.
“When was the last time you ate something, Y/N?”
You crossed your arms. A lump began to form in your throat.
“This morning.”
“What did you have?”
Barely a bite of a muffin that Jaskier had made.
“One of Jaskier’s muffins.”
“Hm.”
“What?” You furrowed your brow. “You don’t believe me?”
Geralt said nothing for a few moments.
“Do you remember what I said to you when you told me about the issues you had in the past with eating?”
You stayed silent.
He knew. He definitely knew.
“I told you that if you ever had those issues again, you needed to tell me–,”
“Geralt, it isn’t something you need to worry–,”
“Yes, it is.” He cut you off firmly. “Answer me honestly, please. When was the last time you ate?”
Tears began to blur your vision. The lump in your throat made it suddenly difficult to breathe. You turned your head away from him.
“I-I didn’t lie to you. I did-I did have one of Jaskier’s muffins. I just didn’t…. I didn’t eat all of it.”
Geralt looked downwards.
“Y/N–,”
“Don’t do that, Geralt. Don’t chide me like a child. I’m not a child.”
“You aren’t. But you need to take better care of yourself. You can’t skip eating. It’ll make you sick.”
You looked down at your lap. The tears in your eyes fell down your cheeks.
“I know.”
Geralt reached over to place his hand on your shoulder.
“You’re in the company of family here, Y/N. Let one of us know if something is wrong. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”
You nodded, sniffling.
“I know.”
You moved to hug him, giving the White Wolf a firm squeeze.
So... Lambert pretending not to care about his child surprise until someone decides to kidnap her? She has ties to a really political dude (her father), though the dude doesn't care about her, won't do anything to save her. Lambert just goes /feral/ because no one is gonna lay a hand on his kid. The prompt? "Focus. Focus right here, or I'll pop your fucking kneecap off"
A/N: This has literally been in my box for 2 years *keels over* I am so terrible with this and I will not let it get this bad ever again I am so sorry to everyone ever I'm the worst lmao..... BUT in other news, I think I'm doing a second part to this lmao
Warnings: nothing outside of canon
You moved through the manor, eyes flickering from one group of huddled ladies to a small gathering of knights further down the hall.
All were whispering, leaning in close to one another, eyes staring at you as you passed.
The doors to your father’s study opened as you approached them.
Inside, your father sat at his desk. To his right was Dain, his advisor, and to his left was Lorika, your governess.
“Ah, Y/N, darling.” Your father, Lord Venant, lifted his hand, beckoning you further into the room. “We were just chatting about you.”
“Just as everyone else was, I suppose.” You looked to your right, spotting the three knights in the corner of the study just out of your visibility.
Your stomach twisted up. Something wasn’t sitting right, but you weren’t sure what it was.
“Lambert’s here, father.”
“Who?” Your father furrowed his brow.
“Lambert.”
When he showed no signs of knowing the name, you spoke again.
“The witcher, father.”
Dain leaned down to whisper something to your father, who nodded his head.
“Ah, yes. That Lambert. Well, what is he doing here?”
“I have no clue. I have only heard through whispers.” You shrugged your shoulders, moving to look at the books on one of the many bookshelves in the study. “I was going to ask you the same.”
“Well, I haven’t the slightest clue.”
“Perhaps he’s here about the contract the Commander put out a few days ago.” Dain thought out loud. “There’s been a disappearance of a few villagers to the east. Many think it’s a dragon of some sort.”
“Then I suppose the Commander will handle the witcher. Lorika, take my daughter elsewhere.” Your father waved his hand dismissively. “I have matters to tend to.”
“Come along, dear.” Lorika moved towards the door, holding her hand out towards you.
As you left the study with her, you began to mess with your fingers.
“Lorika, have you talked to him?” You looked over at her.
She didn’t meet your gaze, shaking her head softly.
“He didn’t want to hear anything I had to say, I’m afraid.”
Your shoulders slumped, upset and disheartened.
You had asked her to talk to your father, to see if perhaps he would be willing to spend more time with you as you wanted to have a chance to bond with him and get to be with him. He let his duties get in the way of his relationship with you.
Things had gone downhill since your mother passed during childbirth, or so Lorika told you. She had known your father for decades, so you thought perhaps she could get to him better than you could.
“Don’t let it get you down, dear.” Lorika placed her hand on your shoulder. “Your father is just…. He is a complicated man.”
“An ass is what he is.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
You lifted your head to see Lambert standing at the end of the hall.
Lorika brought you to a stop, her hand crossing over in front of you to make sure you didn’t pass her.
“What is it you want, witcher?” She asked him, her tone flat.
“Sheesh, you’d think I didn’t save the lord and his wife all those years ago.” Lambert rolled his eyes, taking steps towards you both. “Don’t I deserve a little more of a friendly tone?”
“What are you doing here?” You spoke, tilting your head to the side a little.
You knew very well of the bond you shared with the witcher— or the bond you were supposed to share. One your destinies were supposedly intertwined. The Law of Surprise, or whatever it was.
But he didn’t care. Fuck em was more accurately what he had said on more than one occasion when asked about fate.
The man before you was no more than a stranger, dropping by once every few years for a contract.
Lambert looked at you for a few moments.
“Here for a contract, kid. Where’s pops at?”
“In his study.”
“Y/N!” Lorika looked at you with widened eyes.
You moved around her arm and walked passed Lambert, not bothering to meet his gaze anymore. He wasn’t concerned about what his invocation of the Law of Surprise may have caused, so why should you be?
Lorika wanted to follow you, but she couldn’t leave the witcher to find the lord’s study by himself.
“This way, witcher.”
***
Two Nights Later
Thump.
You jolted awake, blinking your eyes rapidly in an attempt to clear the sleep from them. Using one hand to push the hair from your face, you used the other to push yourself up into a sitting position.
Thump.
Your head snapped in the direction of the balcony. Your heart began to race wildly in your chest. Was someone out there? Was something out there?
You pushed the blankets off of yourself and slipped out of bed, carefully stalking towards the large balcony doors.
Thump.
The feeling of something behind you made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Someone was behind you.
You spun around to see a large, tall figure stand just a few feet from you. Before you could even get so much as a scream out, a sack was put over your head and something collided with the back of your head.
***
The Next Morning
Lambert moved through town, his pocket heavy with coin from the contract he had just finished. Now, he’d be leaving the town, and soon the entire duchy of Toussaint.
“Did you hear the lass is missing?”
“Snatched right from her bed in her sleep!”
“I heard she was taken from the garden last evening.”
Lambert heard whispers and murmurs, but he paid them no mind, figuring there was no importance to the gossip.
“Nay! It was her bed! Kidnappers came in the night and took her from the balcony!”
The witcher untethered Champion from the post and mounted him before he started for the road that led out of town.
However, Lambert didn’t make it very far before he was stopped.
A lady on horseback crosses his path, blocking him from leaving.
Champion reared his head and whinnied.
“What the fuck are you doing, lady?”
“Master witcher, I am Lady Y/N’s governess.” The woman spoke urgently. She appeared familiar to Lambert, though he had always been terrible with names so it was no surprise he couldn’t remember hers.
“Yeah?”
“I am afraid something terrible has happened to her, master witcher.”
“Terrible? Like what?”
“I-I’m not certain, but I know she’s gone missing. Please come back to the manor with me.”
Lambert nodded his head without hesitation.
***
“Witcher! I thought you were already paid your dues.” Lord Venant spoke as Lambert and Lorika entered his study, his deep voice echoing off of the high ceilings.
“I asked him to assist in finding Lady Y/N.” Lorika told him.
“You what?” He turned his head sharply to the governess as she approached his desk.
Lambert took note of the sudden increase in Venant’s heartbeat, but brushed it off. The man didn’t care for the witcher, so perhaps that was the reason for it.
“He can find her, my lord.”
“When did it happen?” Lamberet put his hands on his belt, eyeing the half a dozen knights gathered at the other side of the study.
“Late last night.” Venant said. He brought his hand up to rub his brow.
“When I went to wake her for breakfast, I found her room empty.” Lorika told the witcher.
“Has she mentioned running away before?”
“She’s joked about running away for years.” Venant waved his hand dismissively. “I have my best men searching the entire countryside for her now. She’s probably run off to play with her friends somewhere in the woods.”
“Uh-huh.” Lambert nodded slowly. He didn’t buy a word the lord spoke. His golden eyes flickered to Lorika. “Mind taking me to Y/N’s room?”
“What do you need from her room?” Venant asked, sitting up in his chair.
“Just to see if there are any clues as to where she is.”
“I can take you. This way, master witcher.”
***
Lorika’s heart was racing the entire way across the manor to your room.
Lambert followed a few paces behind her, his eyes carefully scanning every inch of the halls.
“Here we are. Lady Y/N’s room.” Lorika opened the door and pushed it open, then stepped aside to let the witcher in.
“What do you think happened with her?” Lambert asked as he stepped into the room.
He took in a breath, immediately picking up your sweet, floral scent. But almost instantly, your scent was overtaken by something putrid, something dirty and unkempt. The stench made his nose curl.
“I-I don’t know.” Lorika stayed in the doorway, absentmindedly rubbing her arm as she looked around.
“Was anyone in here after you realized Y/N was missing?” Lambert moved towards the wardrobe. The doors were opened and an article of clothing seemed to be hanging out.
“No. I made sure everyone knew to stay out.”
“Who else comes in here besides Y/N?”
“Regularly? Just myself. Sometimes the tailor will come and fit her dresses here.”
“Was the tailor here recently?”
“No…. Why do you ask, master witcher?” Lorika let her arms fall to her sides.
Lambert picked up the article of clothing, finding it to be the sleeve of a blouse. The hanger was broken, laying in pieces on the floor of the wardrobe. He opened the doors of the wardrobe all the way so he could have a better look inside.
“Someone else was here. Smells like they bathed in horse shit.”
“Someone was here?” Lorika moved towards Lambert.
“Is she missing any–,”
“There’s a coat missing.” She cut him off, nodding her head. “It’s-It’s blue. Blue with, uh, with, um, white stitching. Oh gods, did someone take her, Lambert?”
“Calm down. I’ll figure this out.” He placed the blouse back in the wardrobe and turned to survey the room from where he stood.
There was another scent in the air that he could identify, another terrible, unwashed, and vile odor.
Two men.
Lambert took a few steps towards the balcony doors, thinking that there might be clues there, when he spotted dark red spots on the floor. They were small and very easy to miss.
He knelt down and inspected them a little closer. His brow furrowed and his nose curled up in a snarl.
“What is that?” Lorika asked, her voice hesitant.
“Blood.”
“Is- Oh, gods. Please tell me it isn’t hers. Please, witcher–,”
“Lorika, please.” Lambert stood to his full height, turning to face the governess. “Let me do my job.”
Her eyes were full of tears, full of distraught, full of tears as she gazed up at him. She clutched at the pendant around her neck.
“Promise me you’ll bring her back, witcher.”
“I don’t make promises, woman–,”
“You owe it to her!”
“I don’t owe her anything!”
“Horse shit!” Lorika cursed. “She is your Child Surprise, witcher! She is your destiny, your fate! And you’ve just left all of it to rot!”
Lambert locked his jaw as he looked down at her.
“Find her.”
Without another word, Lorika left the room.
Lambert listened to her leave. When he was finally alone, he let out a breath, his hand coming up to rub his eyes.
Fucking destiny.
He wandered around the room searching for any more potential leads before finding a scarf of yours that carried your scent should he need it. Then, he began to follow the scent trail of the pig shit-smelling men.
***
Lambert found himself approaching an unfamiliar room. It had large double doors and two guards outside of it. Both of the guards immediately became defensive when they saw Lambert.
“Halt!” One shouted.
“Turn back now!”
“Relax, fellas. I’m searching for Lady Y/N.” Lambert rolled his eyes.
“You’re doing a fucking good job, mate.” One laughed.
“She isn’t this way, witcher. We’d know.”
“The trail I’m following is taking me this way, so can I just–,”
“No, you can’t.”
Lambert looked between the two men. He really didn’t have the patience for all of this.
“Fine. Have it your way, tin cans.” He signed Axii, causing both guards to go into a dazed state, which would give him enough time to pass.
The witcher began to make his way towards the doors when he heard voices talking on the other side. One of the voices was Lord Venant.
“There’s a witcher roaming my halls, Dain.”
“I know, my lord.”
“Lorika is the cause of it all!”
“I will have a word with her.”
There was a brief pause of silence.
“What if he finds something?”
“He won’t find anything, my lord. The men were thorough and meticulous.”
“They were, weren’t they? Hm…. But he’s a witcher! What if he does some sort of…. Witcher-y thing and finds out what happened to her?”
Lambert stepped away from the door. His shoulders slumped as realization hit him.
Lord Venant had something to do with your disappearance.
The witcher gritted his teeth together, fingers curling tightly into fists beside himself.
He reached over and took a sword from the guard to his left. He used the same sword to behead both guards, who were still under the influence of Axii.
Lambert twirled the sword around in his hand, adjusting his grip, and kicking the double doors open.
Venant jumped in his seat.
The second voice had come from his advisor, Dain, who moved to stand to Venant’s left.
There were only two knights in the room with them to serve as protection. Lambert smirked just a little. It was almost too easy.
“Hey, dickhead.” Lambert nodded to Venant. His eyes briefly flickered to Dain. “I honestly forgot your name.”
“Dain.”
“Don’t care. Listen. I am here to find Y/N.” Lambert stopped at the table across from Venant. “What happened to her?”
Venant glared at the witcher. With a little wave of his hand, the two knights were charging Lambert. He signed Aard at Venant and Dain, blasting them both backwards. Then, he turned his attention to the knights.
They were easy to take care of. They were trained, sure, but they were not witchers.
One ended up pinned to the wall with the sword that belonged to his comrade in the hall, the blade piercing his chest. The other was left in three pieces on the floor: his head, one hand, and the rest of his body.
Lambert turned to face the remaining two people in the room.
Dain was helping Lord Venant to his feet and trying to rush him out of the room, but Lambert quickly stopped them, taking a knife from the holster in his boot and launching it at Dain’s calf. He collapsed to the floor, crying out in pain.
Venant stumbled a little as Dain nearly took him down too. But the lord of the manor saw his escape and took it, running down the hallway as fast as he could.
Lambert could have chased after him, but he decided against it.
He grabbed Dain by the front of his tunic and hauled him to his feet, but not before pulling the dagger from his calf. Dain hissed at the pain, teeth bared.
“What the fuck did you do to her?” Lambert growled, bringing the dagger up to his throat.
“Why do you-do you care, you mutant prick?” Dain panted, tilting his head as best as he could. “You don’t care about her! You never have!”
“She’s my fucking Child Surprise.” Lambert fought the urge to drive the blade of the dagger into the man’s throat.
Dain laughed, though it sounded maniacal and crazed. Lambert did not like that.
“Hey! Focus!” He used his hand that didn’t hold the knife to slap Dain’s cheeks to get his attention. “Focus, fuck face! Focus right here, or I’ll pop your fucking knee caps off!”
“She’s probably halfway to Sodden now.” Dain said. “Who knows what they’ll do with her once they get her across the Pontar.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Venant sold her off to some bloke up north. Wouldn’t speak much on it, but he’d pay the right price for a wife.”
“I didn’t think Venant would stoop so low as to sell his only fucking daughter.”
“The man must’ve said the right number.”
Lambert pressed the blade uncomfortably against Dain’s neck.
“What route did they take?”
“I don’t know.”
“You better fucking tell me or you’re going to be losing pieces in the next five seconds, starting with your fucking ears–,” Lambert lifted his dagger up towards the side of Dain’s head.
“I-I wasn’t told what route they took! I wasn’t told! But! But! I heard something about going to Belhaven!”
“If you are lying to me–,”
“That’s what I heard! I swear to the gods! I heard Venant mention it to one of the men who took Lady Y/N!”
Lambert wanted to keep pressing for more information, but he could hear heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. More knights were coming.
The witcher threw Dain down onto the floor.
“Tell Venant that he’s a dead man walking.” Lambert sheathed his dagger and went to one of the windows before jumping out.
***
Three Days Later
You listened to the faint sound of music coming from the tavern downstairs. There must’ve been a bard singing or playing an instrument. Maybe both. Who knew. You couldn’t hear that well from the room you were stowed away in.
You watched as rain dripped from the window sill and splashed on the wooden floor just inside the room.
The breeze that blew in from the window was chilling and bitter. It made your toes numb from the cold, threatened to cause a cold in your chest.
You were sitting on the floor in a corner of the room. Your hands were bound in front of you. The rope was thick and coarse. The fibers were itchy and irritating your skin even more so than what you had already done in your attempts to free yourself.
There was a makeshift gag wrapped around your head, a cloth of some sort to keep you from trying to scream for help.
The gang of men that had taken you always left you tied up. When you were traveling, you were strewn across a horse like a deer ready to be harvested. When they decided to find an inn, you were left on the floor at the opposite corner of the door while they went downstairs to enjoy themselves however they wanted. The latter happened just twice.
Both times, you tried to escape. Both times, you failed.
Now, you were plotting your next escape. A part of you, however, was starting to feel the effects of hopelessness. These men were stronger than you. They knew the world better than you. They had weapons. They had muscles. They had power.
You had nothing. You were nothing without your father, and even he couldn’t stand to be around you.
You blinked the tears away hastily, reminding yourself that you shouldn’t cry. It wouldn’t help anything.
The door opened suddenly, causing you to jump. You turned your head to see one of your kidnappers stumbling in.
He slammed the bottle in his hand down onto a table, but it fell off onto the wooden floor with a clank.
“Ah, fuck.”
He knelt down to pick up the bottle, groaning as he did so.
“Just a few more days, m’lady.” His slurred words were directed to you even though he hadn’t once looked in your direction.
You wanted to ask what he meant, but the gag prevented you from doing so.
A noise from across the hall caught the man’s attention. It sounded like a short lived scream.
“I’m gonna see what kinda trouble Rothley’s gettin’ up to. You don’t go no where.” He pointed at you and then snickered at his own joke as he left the room.
As you were left alone, your mind began to wander.
A few more days? Were they going to kill you? Would they set you free perhaps? Would you finally be able to go home?
There was a loud thump against the door. You jumped where you sat, eyes flighting over to the door.
A few moments of silence followed the thumb and then suddenly something that sounded like a person was choking came from the other side of the door.
Panic began to set into your bones. What was happening out there?
The door to the room flew open and you pushed yourself into the corner, closing your eyes tightly in an effort to escape the hellish nightmare you were in.
When you didn’t hear the boisterous drunks, you opened your eyes.
The witcher stepped into the room and almost immediately, you felt relief. You were safe.
His eyes found you and without hesitation, he moved to cut your binds.
“Always managing to get yourself into trouble, kid.” Lambert pulled the gag from your mouth as he knelt down in front of you.
“I was getting myself out of it too.” You rubbed the raw spots left behind on your wrists from chaffing.
“You were doing a hell of a job.”
Once the rope around your ankles was cut, Lambert sat back on his knees, gazing at you for a moment. There was bruising around your temple and on one cheek, but other than that you didn’t appear to be too hurt.
“They didn’t get you too bad, did they?”
“Think I hurt myself more trying to get them than anything.” You muttered as you pushed yourself to your feet. “I can’t imagine how worried my father must’ve been to ask for your help.”
The witcher watched you walk towards the door. His hand came to his brow.
“Y/N, your father was the one behind this.”
You turned to face him, confused. You watched the witcher as he stood to his full height.
“You’re lying.”
“Wish I was, kid, but the spineless prick sold you to someone in the North.”
You stared at the witcher. The words that came from his mouth didn’t make sense.
You shook your head, crossing your arms.
“I-I don’t believe you, witcher.”
“You think I’d lie to you about something like that?” Lambert almost seemed offended.
“Perhaps.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed.
“Whatever. If you go back home, this will happen again.”
“Why would you care?” You asked him, your voice quiet as your brows furrowed together. “You’ve never cared before.”
Lambert couldn’t find a good excuse. There wasn’t one really. He was afraid of whatever destiny was, whatever fate he had bestowed not only on himself but on you as well years ago.
“Yeah, that’s right.” He muttered, messing with a strap around his forearm. “So are you going back home?”
You knew he wasn’t lying. You didn’t know how you knew as you barely knew this man. But there was something in your gut that told you he was honest.
You bit your cheek, turning your head to look at the corner you had been stuck in for the night.
“Why did he want to get rid of me, Lambert?”
“Couldn’t tell you, kid.” The witcher shook his head gently.
Tears came to your eyes. Your fingers fisted the material of your nightgown.
“What happens to me now, Lambert?” You whispered.
Your voice was full of fear and uncertainty, but even all that trepidation couldn’t hide the heartbreak.
You were a fourteen-year-old girl with no home, no coin, and not even a change of clothes. You had no knowledge of the world beyond that of the manor you grew up in.
Golden eyes found yours.
He couldn’t just drop you off a few hours away in another village. You wouldn’t be safe. Who knew what could happen to you.
“I…. I know we don’t….” Lambert didn’t know how to say what he was thinking. Thoughts were hard to put into words. “Winter is almost here. We witchers, uh, we leave the Path when it’s cold and shit.”
“Where do you go?” You asked.
“Place called Kaer Morhen. School of the Wolf. It’s in Kaedwen.”
“Kaedwen.” You repeated. “That’s far away.”
“It is. But if you’d like, you can come with…. with me. To there.”
You looked down at the floor in front of him for a moment as you thought about his offer.
To travel all the way to Kaedwen for the winter…. It would take weeks! You’d never traveled that far before. And with a stranger no less.
“I think that’s okay.” You nodded.
“Alright then. We should go before they start a mob.” Lambert started to move towards you so he could lead the way out.
“A mob?” You repeated, concern filling your voice.
“Villagers don’t take kindly to witchers coming in and killing a bunch of people without any explanation, and I don’t take kindly to giving an explanation.”
You began to follow him.
It was only when you were at the top of the stairs and heard movement in the tavern below that you froze, your hands gripping the railing.
“Lambert?”
“What?”
“I-I can’t leave.”
He stopped in the middle of the stairs and turned around to look up at you.
“Why not?”
You felt silly and embarrassed for even allowing him to see you in your nightgown, but it would be even worse if more people saw you in such a state.
Wordlessly, you gestured to what you wore.
The nightgown had once been a pretty white color, but now it was brown around the bottom hem and there were parts that were torn from your escape attempts. You also wore no shoes, your feet dirty and your toes chilly. The weather was far from appropriate for bare feet.
“Shit.” Lambert cursed. He untied the cloak he wore and offered it to you. “We’ll, uh, we’ll work on getting you clothes.”
“Thank you.” You murmured quietly, taking the cloak and wrapping it tightly around yourself.
“Come on. We need to go.” He placed his hand on your shoulder and guided you out of the inn.
