Dialogue prompt 42. "I'm only here to establish an alibi." Lambert/Aiden :) May the inspiration fairy visit you!!
It’s been a shit night. A shit night, a shit week, a shit month.
The rain that’s started up again every time he finally managed to get dry from the last round for the past three days has turned torrential, and between the thunder and the fucking hail Lambert’s not quite stubborn enough to try to ride through it. So he sits in a shitty inn still a day’s ride from Ellander, drinking shitty overpriced ale and ignoring the stares from shitty villagers who whisper to each other with their eyes glued on him. He’s too far from the fire for any hope of it drying out his soaking layers of clothes and armor, and he doesn’t have the coin to manage a bowl of stew if he wants a room.
All in all, another fucking day in the paradise that is the Path.
And because Lambert thinks that tonight can’t possibly get worse, the door slams open and another fucking witcher steps through it.
Fucking perfect.
Common folk are uneasy with one witcher, nervous and on edge and wary. Lambert doesn’t mind. Geralt would probably go out of his way to put the people’s minds at rest, make himself smaller and softer and friendlier than he is, the way Vesemir taught him, taught all of them. Fuck that. Lambert doesn’t mind that they’re afraid, that they pull their children behind them, that they give him a wide berth. Makes it easier to get them to fork over their coin after he’s dealt with their problems if they remember he’s not their friend.
But two witchers, two witchers become a threat. Two witchers together seem to remind people that they could wipe out a village like this without breaking much of a sweat if they were so inclined, and that tips that helpful apprehension into something a lot more reckless, a lot more lethal. One particularly memorable contract where he’d teamed up with Eskel ended with a dozen snarling, terrified villagers cornering them with pitchforks, and they’d’ve both been fucked had it not been for Eskel’s freakish strong Axii holding the crowd long enough for them to get the hell out of dodge.
(This was before Geralt’s fancy bard started his quest to single-handedly rehabilitate the witcher image, of course, but still. That shit stays with you.)
Every eye in the inn’s common room is fixed on this new witcher, and then, seemingly in unison, they remember Lambert.
The other witcher’s gaze follows the crowd’s, and when their eyes meet his face breaks into a dangerous smile. He slinks over, every movement full of a graceful precision unusual in a man his size. He’s smaller than Lambert, though not by much: his lean frame is lithe and sinewy, his shoulders broad, the arms bared by his short-sleeved jerkin defined, solid. His skin bears the same telltale scars of the profession as Lambert’s does in shades of pink and red and white.
A cat medallion hangs on his chest, swinging casually as he slips into the booth across from Lambert as though he belongs there.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing, Cat?” He pitches his voice as low as he can without a whisper dampening the impact of his growl. The less the onlookers hear of their exchange the better.
The Cat sprawls out as though he owns the place, an arm draping over the back of the booth. “Drop your hackles, Wolf, I’m not here to spirit away your contracts.” He gestures, beckoning the barkeep and Lambert nearly laughs at the audacity, as though that would possibly...until he notices that the man is heading towards their table with a mug of ale, which he sets before the Cat with a nod and nary a word about payment. The witcher takes a swig, tossing wet, shoulder-length brown hair out of his eyes in the process. A striking white scar intersects his sharp-angled eyebrow. His face is all sharp angles: strong, squared off jaw, covered in dark stubble; aquiline nose that looks to have been broken once; high, distinctive cheekbones.
Look, just because Lambert’s sure he’s up to no good doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the view.
“The name’s Aiden. And you are?”
“Not about to fall for any horseshit. What do you want, Cat?”
The Cat fixes him with that feral smile again. “To drink with a colleague.” At Lambert’s huff of disbelief, Aiden sighs. He drops his voice to a deep purr. “Relax, Wolf. I'm only here to establish an alibi. What could be more memorable than two witchers from enemy schools sharing a drink? It’ll be the talk of the town.”
“Rather not be the talk of the town. Rather put my head down, do the job, and avoid cocky assholes like you like the plague. Don’t really care to be part of some intrigue that’s gonna get me skewered.”
A flash of recognition lights Aiden’s handsome face. He nods, considering his words before he replies. “Spent a good while working jobs in this area last fall. Had some pretty grisly shit on their hands; a clan of wraiths haunting the woods just outside the village, cutting them off from the nearest fresh water source and slaughtering dozens every month. Then all those fresh corpses bring…”
“Fucking necrophages.” Lambert winces. It’s not an uncommon problem with wraiths. Unlike many of the monsters he hunts regularly, wraiths don’t consume the corpses, which has a tendency to attract secondary issues.
“Fucking necrophages,” Aiden confirms. “Ghouls and alghouls, mostly, but graveirs too, nests and nests of necrophages sprung up for miles in every direction. Job took over a month to wrap up. I stayed here at the inn, got to know most of the locals. Not saying we’re pen pals, but we’re safe here.”
A petite barmaid with wispy, dirty blonde hair approaches the table, setting a steaming bowl of stew before Aiden. “Me da says it’s on the house, master witcher,” she says as Aiden reaches for his purse, a comely pink flush spreading across her freckled face.
“Your father has my thanks, Brea, as do you.” The girl blushes deeper at that, ducking her head. “Might I get another bowl for my friend? I’ve the coin.”
“Me da says I’m to take no coin for you, master witcher, you’re our guest here. Be back with the stew in a flash.”
Lambert stares.
Aiden smiles, and somehow it seems a little softer, sadder. “Brea’s brother was one of those the wraiths slaughtered before I arrived. They didn’t have much coin, not enough for such an extensive job, but they were upfront from the start, and they kept me housed and well fed until the job was done. Didn’t get the warmest welcome from the whole village, but Keller—” he nods toward the barkeep “—and his family were always good to me.”
“Never seen anything like it.” The girl flits back beside the table, setting a thick, warm bowl of stew before Lambert with a quick nod before scurrying away again. He looked at Aiden appraisingly, slowly picking up his spoon. “Name’s Lambert,” he grunts. “Thanks for...you know.”
Aiden waves it off. “Eat.”
They do.
Conversation flows a little easier as they eat. They talk about the shit weather that brought Lambert to the inn, the ealdorman a few towns over that tried to stiff Lambert after he wiped out a cave full of endregas, their best hunts this year, the closest they came to dying this year. It’s been almost a year since he was last in Kaer Morhen, last around people who understood, who would have a real conversation with him, but it turns out Aiden’s surprisingly easy to talk to. He listens more than he speaks, watching Lambert with bright eyes through each story only to interject a thoughtful question here, a devastatingly witty quip there.
They’re on their third round of ale, courtesy of Aiden’s apparent heroism, their supper long finished, when Lambert leans forward on his elbows, fingertips lacing together. “Riddle me this, Cat,” he says slowly, watching the pretty face before him break into a grin, scarred eyebrow jutting upward. “If you’re just here so you have an alibi—and don’t think I forgot about that shady shit, by the way, I don’t know what the fuck you’re up to but I haven’t forgotten that—then why’d you come sit here with me? Yeah, yeah, two witchers are more memorable than one, I heard you, but not here, where they know you by name and keep the ale coming and treat you like a damn king. There’s a room full of people who’d vouch you were here even if you weren’t, seems to me. So why?”
Aiden stretches, hard lines of his body on languorous display. He looks relaxed, at ease. “Needed to assess the threat.” His voice is casual, but his golden eyes miss nothing. “You Wolves have a reputation as a prickly, self-righteous bunch—no, hold your protests, I assure you I know all about our reputation. I like to think we’re both more than the worst traits of our guilds, don’t you agree?”
Lambert nods, reluctant.
“There’s also,” Aiden continues, and although his body remains lax, long limbs still splayed out gracefully, his voice lowers carefully, “the fact that you want me. Smelled it on you the minute I walked in, strong enough to cut through your misapprehension.”
Lambert doesn’t deny it, just watches him, silent.
“It was flattering,” Aiden murmurs, leaning in, long fingers tracing patterns on the table between them. “Strong, handsome witcher who can’t keep his eyes off me? It’s a hard thing to resist. And denying myself has never been one of my strong suits.”
“I can believe that,” Lambert snorts. Aiden’s looking up at him prettily through hooded eyes, long, dark lashes, a quick tongue wetting his lip. And Lambert could deny himself, could walk away from this fascinating man who he doesn’t quite trust, doesn’t quite know but desperately wants to. “So what now?”
“Now I’m going to take advantage of my complimentary room upstairs. What you do is up to you, but I’d welcome your company.” He slips to his feet and fixes Lambert with a challenging smile. “You coming, Wolf? Or are you all bark?”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Arnaghad/Erland of Larvik
Characters: Erland of Larvik, Arnaghad (The Witcher)
Additional Tags: The order of witchers, The First Generation of Witchers, philosophical disagreements, Bittersweet, The Witcher Lore, Established Relationship
Summary:
That summer, Arnaghad will lose his temper and attack Rhys over a disagreement on a chort contract and nearly kill the other witcher. That summer, Rhys will retreat wounded to Morgraig, and Erland and the others will make the decision that Arnaghad needs to answer for his actions. That summer, Arnaghad will gather his supporters, descend upon Morgraig and the ensuing fight will shatter the Order of Witchers permanently. By the fall, the new School of the Bear will be established in the Amell Mountains. But it is spring now, and that summer hasn't happened yet.
Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mentioned Lambert (The Witcher), Mentioned Vesemir (The Witcher), Angst and Feels, Alternative Perspective, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Summary:
Years after defeating the Wild Hunt, Ciri returns now to the abandoned Kaer Morhen. While exploring the library she finds four old and yellowing journals, all beaten from use on the path. She decides to read them, learning more about her family members in the process.
Absolutely loving the brothel series! It'd be funny if the end actually takes place years in the future after Geralt has come to terms with his feelings, but thinks that Jaskier still hasn't and he's patiently waiting for him. Geralt slips and calls him love or something and admits he's known for years but didn't want to rush the bard. Cue Jaskier's extremely flustered "No, I knew! I was waiting for you!" And Geralt's just like "Sure. There's no shame in taking time to work out your feelings..."
lmaooooo i love the idea that it takes them DECADES to get their shit together. they’ve been living together and sleeping together for years at this point, and they’re essentially married in every way except officially.
and finally, finally, geralt is like: OH SHIT JASKIER i can’t deny it any more I LOVE YOU.
and jaskier is there like: wow. you took your time, huh? you’re lucky i love you too, you great idiot.
I saw that you stan Yen/Eskel and immediately thought, "Damn, you need to read After Tedd Deireádh, because that is absolutely devastating in the very best way possible and a fucking work of art," but then I realized you already had read it and I was sad that I had nothing nearly as good as that to rec you.
After Tedd Deireádh IS absolutely devastating in the best fucking way! and hey if nothing else this ask was an excellent excuse to reread 💕
also the author has a tumblr now and y’all should say hi! @eskelchopchop
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Arnaghad/Erland of Larvik
Characters: Arnaghad (The Witcher), Erland of Larvik
Additional Tags: Once and Future Husbands, Hurt/Comfort, Burns, not getting back together, Relationship Discussions, Vomiting, Canon-Typical Violence, Injury Recovery, philosophical disagreements, Past Relationship(s), Public Execution, Rescue, Hope vs. Despair
Summary:
It has been three hundred years since the Order of Witchers suffered its first schism when Arnaghad rebelled against Erland's ideals and founded the pragmatic School of the Bear, almost three hundred years since Erland himself left the crumbling Order to found the knightly School of the Griffin. In those three centuries, Erland has constantly striven to uphold his fundamental belief that the witchers were created for a reason: to selflessly save the beleaguered peoples of the Continent. Three hundred years of personal sacrifice and always trying to do the right thing, and here he was, chained to a stake in some no name backwater town by a gaggle of small minded peasants who wanted to burn him for blasphemy. Wonderful.
I wish you would write a fic where we find out why and how Jaskier needs Letho to save the world in A Frayed Knot!
Well! Now you have me thinking, my friend!! I may have another part in the Chronicles of Jaskier in the future to help explain this. When I wrote A Frayed Knot, I wasn't thinking that far ahead, but there are so many possibilities... Oh. OH NO. This may be the way the series ends now that I'm seriously considering it. A culmination to the mechanations of Jaskier, his brother, and the Witchers. Fantastic!
