A/N: Many decades after the Purges, the remaining members of the Witcher brotherhood gather together to restore Kaer Morhen and build something of a home for themselves. As the younger generation forge a new way of life, the three remaining relics of the old system have only each other to turn to when the demons of the past trouble their dreams.
Guxart stretched lazily over Vesemir’s legs. He’d been dozing on and off for the last two hours, occasionally listening to snippets of the novel the old wolf was reading. Their shared quarters were pleasantly warm, with scents of cinnamon and clove curling from the candle on the nightstand. In reality, Guxart was far more interested in the hand that scratched through his hair; the sensation coaxed a purr from deep in his chest, eyes blowing wide in the dim candlelight.
The rest of the castle was silent but for Kaer Morhen’s usual sorrowful song, but even that was muted now that the remaining members of the Witcher order had gathered together to rebuild her ruined walls and make themselves a permanent home. Together. Like it always should have been. His senses stretched down the corridors anyway, keen ears listening to the quiet scurry of mice through the rafters, the cracking of the fire… and the soft footfalls arriving outside their door. He looked up before the knock.
Vesemir blinked awake - the old boy had dozed off halfway through a paragraph, his hand wound through Guxart’s hair - and cleared his throat. “Come in.”
The handle dipped, the hinges creaked, and Keldar’s greying head popped around the side of the door. “Sorry to disturb you, I - umm, I have a peculiar request.”
The old griffin had arrived several months ago from what remained of Kaer Seren. Upon seeing Kaer Morhen’s library - slowly rebuilt as more and more Witchers descended on the keep with what they’d salvaged from their own schools’ destruction - he’d fallen to his knees and wept.
With each new arrival, Vesemir had taken their books, scrolls and other documentation, placed it in the library and closed the damned door. Keldar was a librarian, a hoarder of knowledge and a fastidious organiser; he was exactly what Vesemir needed to bring some order to the chaos. What did a fencing instructor know about conservation and the appropriate storage of academia? Keldar took to his new purpose with gusto. It would take him years, but he was determined to contribute to the salvation of his brethren in his own way.
Vesemir raised an eyebrow. “Of course, come in, close the draught out,” he murmured, adjusting the blankets that weren’t pinned by Guxart’s bulk. The old griffin slid through the small gap he’d created and closed the door behind him. He was wrapped in a thick woollen cloak, his bare legs visible beneath the hem.
“It’s - uh, the mountain,” Keldar stuttered out, tugging at the material of his nightshirt. It wasn’t hard to see the shame embedded in the lines of his face. “I can hear it.”
Such a statement would have sounded insane to an outsider, but Guxart and Vesemir both gazed upon their friend with concern. There was a reason Keldar listened to the movements of the mountain. The mages had buried Kaer Seren under one in retaliation when the griffins had refused to share their arcane knowledge. Everything Keldar had ever known - ever cherished, ever loved - was swept away by an avalanche. The deep, guttural rumbles of the Blue Mountains were a harbinger of death that his mind simply couldn’t ignore.
“I thought, perhaps, I would find some company… helpful,” - comforting, he meant comforting - “I can sleep on the floor, of course; by the fire is perfectly fine, more than acceptable, but I understand if it’s a bother.”
It took a lot of courage to seek help and Keldar had nowhere else to go. He couldn’t very well join the piles of much younger men snoozing in the various rooms of Kaer Morhen; they were once his students. Vesemir, Guxart and Keldar all occupied the same uncomfortable niche in the new order. They were relics of the old system, uncomfortable reminders and sources of knowledge all at the same time. If they each sought comfort from their demons - the ghosts of those they’d lost - the only comfort to be found was in the company of just two others.
They’d grown close very quickly. Both Guxart and Vesemir harboured great affection for the third member of their lonely triad. Offers of more intimate company had been politely declined each time, and it hadn’t taken long for either of them to realise that Keldar didn’t have an appetite for such things. That was absolutely fine. There were so many different ways you could demonstrate your love for a person.
“The floor, huh,” Guxart sniffed. “Come here. In bed with us.”
“I didn’t want to intrude, I - .”
“We all did it as boys, Keldar,” Vesemir chipped in, nudging Guxart over so that he could make some room. “Come. Just like when we were young.”
The griffin walked over to the edge of the bed and gazed down at the warm spot made for him. Guxart patted the mattress expectantly, and Keldar dropped his cloak from his shoulders to climb in. There was a little bit of residual awkwardness; he turned inwards towards Vesemir, who looked back to his book in search of the paragraph dry enough to send him to sleep. Guxart, who’d never been one to withhold affection, spooned around Keldar’s back, one arm draped over so that he could still rest a hand on Vesemir, and purred.
The change was gradual. A slow release of tension as Keldar melted into the comfort of Guxart’s purr and the reassuring proximity of the wolf nearby. His eyes closed and his shoulders relaxed; the distant rumble of the mountain muted by the presence of the only two men in the world that understood… everything.
Eventually a new sound joined Guxart and the crackling-snap of the fire; a quiet, bubbling coo of pure contentment.
* Picture 1 (Keldar) and 2 (Scoia’tel Witcher/Guxart) are from the Gwent Cards/Witcher Wiki; Picture 3 is a fancast of Vesemir from Reddit.
With thanks to the Continent Cake Shop; you guys rock.
