Land Where Sorrow is Unknown

Image from PsychVamp who is just the sweetest person in the world.

Lambert felt and smelled the bard and the witch before they walked up to Kaer Morhen during the winter. Vesemir knew they were there too, but unlike Lambert, he didn't seem as worried about it. There was a human and a witch coming to their home, and it smelled like Eskel was with them. Were they about to try and ransom him for coin? Did they have some sort of plan to kill him in front of his fellow Witcher's? Lambert didn't know, and he was ready to tear limbs off if he had to. Yet they rode up, and the witch and the bard didn't smell like fear at all, which didn't make any sense. Even if they somehow had the upper hand on Eskel, they should have been afraid of facing down two other Witcher's. Yet the bard stepped forward, and his words seem to have hit the mark. Vesemir let them into his home, and Lambert nearly lost his fucking mind.

"You want to tell me what the fuck is going on?" Lambert asked.

"It's a long story--" Eskel started.

"Make it short that witch is making my skin crawl," he interrupted. Eskel sat him down in the kitchen and told him the story that the witch and bard told him. Lambert wanted to ask if Eskel was sure they weren't lying, but Eskel wasn't a fucking idiot. He wouldn't have let them follow him up the mountain if they were lying. Then Vesemir let them stay, and Lambert hated it. The witch, Yennefer, made his skin crawl and the fact that the bard, Jaskier, didn't smell afraid set his nerves on edge. The bard should have been afraid, and he wasn't. There was something wrong about that situation that Lambert didn't trust.

He also really fucking hated that Toss a Coin song.

Yennefer and Jaskier made themselves at home in the keep, including Yennefer using her magic to make her room nicer, which caused Lambert to sprint from one end of Kaer Morhen to the other in fear. Eskel was with them when his medallion vibrated, and all he could think about was the terrible things this witch could do to his brother. Yet there she was insisting that it was okay, and she was going to use her magic regardless of how it made any of them feel.

From there on, they made themselves comfortable. Yennefer brewed some healing potions for them, and Lambert didn't trust one until he saw Eskel use one to mend a broken arm that he got falling off the broken walls off Kaer Morhen. The bard wasn't as useless as he looked, and the first time he went hunting and came back with enough meat to feed them for several days, Lambert had to admit he was impressed. He didn't know how he was supposed to react when he saw Vesemir offer to teach them both how to use a sword or how they both acted like that was precisely what they wanted. They were a study in contradictions.

Lambert knew that they were here to have some sort of conversation with Geralt, and it was reasonably apparent that at least Jaskier was in love with Geralt. Yennefer seemed more unsure about her feelings, but they both were staying and healing as they waited for Geralt to show up. When Geralt was spotted on the mountain, Eskel followed them up to their room one night. Lambert didn't like to eavesdrop, but he didn't know what Eskel was doing going into their room with a bottle of liquor and closing the door behind him.

He could hear the entire conversation, and apparently, Eskel's versions of genuinely trying to figure out whether or not they could trust Geralt with these two was watching them fuck. It wasn't a terrible idea since there was a certain level of honesty that came from fucking when there were feelings involved. A whore could lie, but two people who actually cared about each other? They couldn't lie as easily while they were fucking. Eskel was all right with watching because Lambert didn't hear another word from his brother, and he really should have walked away so he could listen.

But he still didn't trust these two, and while Lambert couldn't see what was going on, he could picture it in his mind's eye. It was a lovely sight, and Lambert tried to ignore the way he was getting hard in his pants, just listening to the fucking these two were doing. They were in a keep full of Witcher's; if they didn't want people eavesdropping them, they should have put some sort of spell up. As if was Lambert could hear every slap of flesh as they fucked, he could hear the way Yennefer cried out as she came, and he could hear Jaskier's stuttered breath when he followed not far behind. Lambert was a little impressed with the human; making a woman come three times was a pretty impressive feat.

Eskel came down not long after the fucking ended, and Lambert did his best to ignore how hard his brother obviously was.

"That's certainly one way to figure them out," he said.

"It wasn't exactly a hardship," Eskel replied, and the two of them began to walk through the hallways toward their own rooms.

"Well? What do you think?" Lambert asked.

"I think we'll have to see how their conversation goes, but they could be good for each other if they give each other a chance," Eskel said. That wasn't quite the answer that Lambert wanted, but he trusted Eskel's instincts on this. He cared about Geralt, and he wouldn't let them stay if he thought they were a legitimate danger. Eskel stunk like sex, witch, and bard, which was something that Lambert didn't really want to smell. He went to his room and laid on the bed, wondering what it was going to be like when Geralt showed up.

+++

It turned out that Geralt showing up was nothing less than a total shitshow. Lambert knew that his brother was a bit emotionally stunted, they all were it was how they were raised, but he didn't know how the idiot could look at these two willing and gorgeous people and just not do anything about it. They were halfway through the winter, and the tension was getting stupid. Lambert wanted to toss them all off the mountain and be done with it. Ciri could stay through; he liked her, it was like having a little sibling, and Lambert found that he enjoyed being around Ciri. She was bright, like the sun, and it wasn't until he realized it was halfway through the winter that he would die for her.

Geralt figured himself out eventually, and Lambert had to turn off his ears, so he didn't have to listen to the three of them have sex. They weren't subtle about it, and one of the things that brought Lambert a significant amount of joy during the winter was watching Ciri embarrass the shit out of the three of them by playing stupid about the concept of sex. She was a sneaky little thing, and from the little he had seen of court, she would need that to survive. For now, it was just incredibly entertaining to watch. He thought the winter was going well, and as the snow began to melt, he heard the whispers that Ciri and Geralt were planning on staying in Kaer Morhen and not returning to the Path. Lambert didn't like the idea of a Witcher not returning to the Path, and he liked the idea that Jaskier had even less. Lambert thought that Vesemir was out of his fucking mind and very much told him so.

"I know what I'm doing," Vesemir said, and Lambert huffed.

"Was it the witch? I bet it was; I bet she was the one who suggested this, she just wants one of our medallions for who the fuck knows what kind of curse," Lambert spat out.

"The bard asked for it, and he wasn't lying when he told me that it was his idea," Vesemir replied, and Lambert jerked back like someone had just slapped him. He was about to say how much he didn't trust those two, and he wanted them gone now, but the fact that it was Jaskier's idea and not Yennefer's both surprised him and made him angrier. A man that spent twenty years with Geralt should know how vital the medallions are and wouldn't ever ask for one. Lambert hated Jaskier for asking, and he hated them both for the sadness that followed Ciri and Geralt around like a cloud until the day he left for the Path. He grumbled something about Eskel getting a portal down the mountain while he had to walk.

"I can portal you somewhere if you'd like," Yennefer said, and she turned those eerie purple eyes on him. It took all of Lambert's self-control not to flinch under her gaze because he was a fucking Witcher and a Witcher didn't flinch in the face of some god damn mage. He told her no and left as soon as he had his supplies. Lambert didn't look back, and he found himself hoping that they both returned and didn't. He didn't want them in his home, he didn't like or trust either of them, but the idea of seeing Ciri that sad broke Lambert's heart and Geralt would be a mess for years. He wouldn't ever tell them this himself, but he mentally hoped for Ciri and Geralt's sake only that they came back.

Aside from that, Lambert thought as he rode down the mountain, he did not give a fuck about Yennefer of Vengerberg or Jaskier the Bard.

+++

Lambert knew the plan about convincing everyone that Ciri and Geralt were dead, he didn't even think it was a terrible plan. Still, the first time he walked into a tavern and heard some bard he didn't recognize mournfully singing a song about the White Wolf dying, his heart stuttered for half a moment. Lambert took a deep breath and reminded himself that this was just Jaskier being Jaskier, and Geralt and Ciri were safe in Kaer Morhen. This song was just a song, nothing more, and he didn't need to worry about them. He certainly didn't worry about Jaskier or Yennefer even though he kept his ears open about bards and witches and whether they were alive or dead. He heard rumors about both of them, and it sounded like they were fine. It was because Lambert didn't want Ciri or Geralt to be sad, that was the only reason he was listening in for them, and no other reason at all.

He took a seat in the tavern, and a barmaid walked up to give him an ale. She didn't even look twice at the fact that he was a Witcher, which was still the weirdest fucking thing in the world. For so many years, people wouldn't tolerate him in towns. Now they didn't care one way or another most of the time. It was a strange new reality that he didn't quite know how to deal with. So he listened to the terrible bard sing a song about his brother being dead and drank his ale. There was an inn nearly that would hopefully let him get some sleep, and then he would continue south. He was getting closer to the war, but the war is where the work was going to be. The more people that died terribly, the more monsters would linger around those bodies.

Lambert finished his ale and gestured for another. The barmaid walked over, and this time he could tell that she was looking at him oddly. She didn't seem afraid or interested in fucking him, so Lambert was a little confused.

"You have a wolf on your medallion," she blurted.

"Yes? What of it?" Lambert asked as he took a long drink from his ale. The barmaid twisted her fingers in her hands and smiled at him sadly.

"The Witcher in the song, he had a wolf medallion too, did you know him?" she asked. That wasn't the question he was expecting, and she sounded like she really wanted to know. Lambert blinked and stared at her.

"Yes, we were brothers in all but blood," Lambert said.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," she said quickly. "I'll talk to the owner and see if we can get you a few ales on the house. I can tell the bard to stop singing the song too. I know you probably don't want to hear it." Lambert felt like he just fell through thin ice; no one had ever offered to buy him a drink like this before. This girl was young, too young for him, and he could smell that she wasn't trying to bed him. She was just a nice kid trying to do something nice for a stranger, and Lambert had no fucking idea how to cope with it.

"Thank you," Lambert managed to say as he thought about what he would say if this girl were Ciri trying to tell him that she was sorry. "The bard needs to make coin just like the rest of us; he can sing whatever he wants." The barmaid nodded and went back to serving everyone around the tavern seemingly oblivious to how badly she threw off Lambert's entire way of looking at the world. He touched his medallion and looked out at the crowd of people. A few of them raised their drinks in sad toasts, and this was starting to get to be too much for him. Lambert finished his ale and waved the girl over again.

"I can go get you another," she said, but Lambert shook his head.

"No, it's fine, what do I owe you?" he asked probably a bit too quickly. The barmaid looked a little surprised, and she suddenly smelled a little nervous by the clearly agitated Witcher in front of her. She was fine before, and now she wasn't, and Lambert fucking hated himself and his inability to deal with this normally.

"It's just two ales so you can have them on the house," she said. Lambert pulled out several coins and held them out to her anyway. "It's fine, I promise, the owner said I could give you a few when I asked, so you don't owe me anything."

"It's for asking the owner," Lambert said. The girl blinked and took the coins from him very carefully. There were a million things he wanted to say or do, but they all got caught in his throat. Instead, Lambert nodded to her, gathered up his gear, and nearly sprinted to the nearest inn where they let him in without a word. As he walked upstairs, he heard someone whistling that fucking Toss a Coin song, and Lambert hated everything so much.

+++

The random kindness of people after they heard about Geralt kept happening, and Lambert didn't know what the fuck he was supposed to do with it. A free meal here, a whore that charged him half and let him kiss her on the mouth because she felt bad for him, it was all too strange. The people seemed to believe that Geralt was dead, and Lambert didn't know how to turn away these things without telling them that Geralt was alive and well.

Lambert was traveling along the road, still on his way south, well-fed and well-fucked thanks to the last town that once again took pity on him that Geralt was dead and he was obviously in mourning. He was paying attention enough that he wasn't going to get jumped by anyone, but Lambert was also letting his mind wander a little. So when his medallion suddenly came to life was suddenly paying attention.

Yet there was nothing. As far as he could smell, hear, and see, there wasn't anything trying to attack him. There was another heartbeat nearby that he could faintly hear, but it was slow. It sounded almost like a human which was strange. He should have been able to hear a human a long time ago. It could be a mage that portaled somewhere, but there wasn't anything nearby. Lambert was miles from the next village.

So why would someone portal to the middle of nowhere? It put him on the defensive, but Lambert continued toward the heartbeat. There was the stink of magic in the stair as he got closer, and the heartbeat seemed to be slowing down. Then the smell of blood hit him like a punch to the gut, and there was something about that blood that set his nerves on edge.

The body appeared in the middle of the road but didn't move when he was close enough that whoever was lying in the dirt could hear them. Their back was to Lambert, and he could see a black outfit, and even with the dark colors, he could see the bloodstains. It was a man with brown hair, and as he got closer, Lambert realized why the lingering smell was throwing him off so much. He stopped his horse and looked down at the pale, blood-soaked body on the ground.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, of course, it's you," Lambert said as he looked down at Jaskier. The bard looked like absolute shit; there were at least two bleeding wounds on his body, and there was some sort of strange handprint shaped burn or bruise around his throat. Lambert told himself that he didn't care about Jaskier; he didn't, but Yennefer was nowhere in sight, and there weren't any tracks or blood trails on the ground. He could only assume that she had porteled Jaskier, maybe to save his life, but she managed to portal him to the middle of fucking nowhere and somehow right into Lambert's lap.

Gods fucking damn it all.

He climbed down from his horse and knelt down in front of Jaskier. He didn't move or even acknowledge that Lambert was there, and that was not a good sign. Jaskier has pretty good spatial awareness, Lambert saw it last winter, and now he didn't seem to care that Witcher was leaning over him. Jaskier was unconscious now and was bleeding out a lot faster than Lambert initially thought. The wounds were also covered in dirt and probably already infected, not to mention that bruise or burn on his neck. Lambert knew how to treat his own injuries, but he had no idea how to heal a human's wounds. He also didn't have any supplies that he could use on a human. The idiot was going to die without a healer, and then Ciri and Geralt would be sad.

"I guess it's time to save your fucking life, bard," Lambert said. While he didn't have any supplies to clean the wounds, at least he did have enough bandages to stop the bleeding enough that maybe Lambert could make it to the next village. He just had to hope there was a mage or a healer who would be willing to treat the bard that sang about Witchers.

Jaskier was lighter than Lambert thought he would be. Jaskier walked around with this huge personality that seemed like a lot to deal with, but he was just as fragile as any other human that Lambert had ever met before on his travels. It was challenging to balance Jaskier on his horse before Lambert was finally able to secure the body against his chest. He was ready to move, and he needed to move fast. Jaskier was presently breathing, but he didn't know how much longer that would last. Lambert didn't know what normal human heartbeats were really supposed to sound like, he didn't pay attention to them very often for a reason, but this one seemed slow. He kicked his horse into a full gallop and started toward the next town.

Lambert didn't realize he was talking out loud to Jaskier until they were halfway toward the next town. The two of them didn't speak much during the winter, and after finding out about the medallion plan, Lambert sort of hated him, but now he was talking to an unconscious man. Lambert could also see the medallion hanging around Jaskier's neck along with a ring from Ciri. Neither of the pieces looked damaged from whatever the fuck happened, so at least that was a good thing. Lambert knew that Vesemir made Jaskier swear up and down that he was going to come back this winter to return that medallion, so at least no one had broken any promises yet. Although judging by the amount of blood seeping through the bandages, the way it sounded like it was getting harder for him to breathe, and the slowing heartbeat Lambert might have to bring the medallion home himself.

For some reason, that thought unsettled him, and Lambert pushed his horse to run faster. The village came into view, and Lambert rode up to the first person he saw.

"I need a mage or a healer immediately," he said. The man blinked and sneered, and of course, Lambert managed to stumble into the one village that Jaskier's little songs hadn't made their way to. He knew that look, and he knew it well; this was not going to end well for him. If this were a typical day, Lambert would walk through the village and move onto the next. He couldn't do that though, not with a dying bard in his arms, so he had to deal with the stink of fear and anger. "We have a healer, but she won't treat a monster like you."

"Where are they?" Lambert asked, ignoring the monster comment.

"Edge of the village in the black house," the man said, and Lambert missed him spitting on the ground. Jaskier was getting colder in his arms and had bled through the bandages. Whoever attacked the bard would have killed him if they just let him lie there in the street. He had no idea how Jaskier got where he was, but that didn't matter right now. Lambert managed to climb off of his horse without making the wounds worse and knocked on the door. A woman with hair with dark brown hair and hazel eyes opened the door and glared at him.

"I don't treat Witcher's," she said, and when she tried to close the door in his face. Lambert stuck his foot out to stop the door and sneered at him.

"I'm not asking you to treat me. I need you to treat him," Lambert said, and he gestured to the body in his arms. The healer's sneer faded a bit as she stared at Jaskier in Lambert's arms. He could tell what was going to come next, and he had to figure out a way to convince this woman that Jaskier was worth saving. "I know you don't like Witcher's, but have you heard of the bard that sings about the White Wolf?"

"Everyone has, what about him?" the healer replied.

"This is him, this is the bard, the bard that could sing your praises from one end of the continent to the other if you saved his life," he said, and that clearly hadn't convinced her. "You've heard the song about how the White Wolf is dead?" The healer nodded, and Lambert ground his teeth together. He didn't like disclosing this information, but maybe it would be enough. "He was my brother, and this is his bard. He asked me to look out for him, and I wasn't able to do that. Please, you have to save him, because it's what my dead brother would have wanted." The healer narrowed her eyes and stared at him for what felt like a long time. She sighed and stepped aside to let him into the house.

"Put him on the table," she said, and Lambert immediately did what she said. Jaskier was barely breathing, and his heartbeat was far too slow. The healer got to work, pulling off the bandages and looking at the wounds. "He's been stabbed, twice, did you do this to him?"

"No, I found him like this," Lambert said, and he hesitated because he wasn't sure if this woman would want to know about the magic. He decided to lie. "I can only assume he was mugged. All of his things, including his lute, which he was far too fucking attached to, is gone. They must have left him to bleed out, and I just happened to find him." The healer seemed to believe him, and she began to clean out the various wounds and began to stitch them up. Lambert didn't know what he was supposed to do in this situation. Geralt would have probably taken Jaskier's hand and told him to hang on, but Lambert couldn't do that. He couldn't be Geralt in this situation. So he paced and tried to keep his nervous energy under control. Apparently, he was doing a very bad job at it.

"You either need to sit down and stop, or you need to leave," the healer snapped. "Unless you want him to die."

"Seems like a waste of my coin," Lambert snapped back, and then he shut his mouth. He pressed his lips together and finally sat back down. "I'm going to guess no one here is going to pay me for a contract."

"There are drowners out by the river," the healer said. "I've tried to revive several of their victims and failed. They need to be killed, but I doubt anyone here would pay a Witcher for the deed."

"What about you?" he asked, and she looked up at him. "If I kill them, can we put some of that work toward paying off the bill to keep the bard alive?" The healer frowned, and she went back to work, stitching up the wound. "If I go out and kill them, then I won't be here bothering you."

"Go do your fucking job, Witcher," the healer said. "I won't let your brother's keeper die." Lambert didn't trust her, but he also didn't hear a lie in her words. She was going to keep Jaskier alive, and right now, that was the best he could ask for. She kept glancing at the wound on his throat like she didn't know what to do with it. Lambert didn't blame her; that was a wound that looked made by magic, and if that was the case, there was little she could do except treat the burn or bruise itself. Lambert didn't know how he could possibly answer any question she might have on that wound, so he left to kill the drowners instead. That was something he could do, and he could do it well.

+++

The village didn't say anything when they saw Lambert riding out, but that was fine. He didn't care what these people did as long as the healer kept her promise, and Jaskier didn't die. The idea of trying to face Geralt and Ciri and tell them that he had the bard's blood on his hands was not something Lambert wanted to deal with. It was also the first time he had accepted something other than coin for payment, but he tried to tell himself that he was still getting paid. It was just lessening the amount of money the fucking bard was going to owe him by the time he was healed. Lambert left his horse a reasonable distance away and took out all of his anger about this entire situation on the drowners who didn't see him coming at all.

There were three of them, and one got a decent shot in, and Lambert knew he was bleeding, but that didn't matter. He was fine, and he didn't have the funds to waste on a healer for a wound that would fix itself soon. He took the heads of the three drowners, put them in a sack, and made his way back to the village. The people looked annoyed and frightened by him, Lambert knew he was covered in drowner blood, but they were also curious about what he had in the sack. Maybe if they knew what he did, they wouldn't run him and Jaskier out of town before he was healed. A few people were lingering close enough that they could hear what Lambert had to say when he knocked on the healer's door.

The smell of blood hit him like a punch to the gut, and Lambert had to force himself to ignore how red her hands were. She looked annoyed that he had knocked on the door instead of just letting himself in, but Lambert knew what to say to that.

"I have proof, and I figured you wouldn't want it in your house," he said. The healer blinked and suddenly didn't look so annoyed. She glanced over his shoulder and could see the other people trying to sneak a peek.

"Let's see them then," she said. Lambert pulled out the three drowner heads and put them in the dirt right outside her front door. He could hear people gossiping and talking about how he had killed the drowners without anyone posting a contract and what it meant. "Three of them? Well, that's worth taking some of the fees off from saving your bard, I suppose."

"So we have a deal then? You'll lower the fee I owe you for the healing in exchange for the heads?" Lambert asked even though he knew that was the deal; he just wanted everyone that was spying to know it too.

"We have a deal now, get rid of those things and come see your brother's bard," the healer said and shut the door in his face. If nothing else, Lambert had to admire the fact that this healer was not afraid of pissing off a Witcher. He gathered the heads and went out into the woods to dig a hole and bury them. The last thing he needed was for the smell of dead flesh to attract something else, so Lambert took the time to bury the heads deep. After the hunt and the burial, it was well into the night, and he was fucking starving. Maybe he would go see how Jaskier was doing and then head out into the woods to camp and get some food.

The healer let him back into her home, and he could see Jaskier wrapped in blankets and sleeping in a nearby bed. He didn't know why he immediately walked over and knelt down next to the bard, but he did, and Lambert sort of fucking hated himself for doing it. He did not care about this man; he only cared about keeping Ciri and Geralt from being sad. There was a thick bandage wrapped around Jaskier's neck to conceal the wound there.

"You want to tell me what really happened to him?" the healer asked, and Lambert glanced over his shoulder. "The stab wounds I could believe came from bandits, but that mark on his neck is magic, and it's just as new as the other wounds. So what happened to him?"

"I don't know," Lambert admitted quietly. "I was riding along, and I felt magic, and then I found him. I can only assume a mutual acquaintance of ours, a witch, portaled him for some reason and didn't follow."

"That wound on his neck is something I can't treat," she said. "And I don't know what it did to him either if he ever wakes up." The word "if" made Lambert afraid in a way he hadn't felt in a very long time.

"What do you mean 'if he wakes up?' You said you wouldn't let him die," Lambert said, and he stood so he could stare her down. Once again, this healer did not give a shit that a Witcher was looming over her.

"I said he wouldn't die, and he probably won't, but there is more going on here than I can handle," she said. "Those wounds might be stabs, but they looked wrong too."

"Wrong? Wrong, how?" Lambert asked.

"Wrong like the blade had something on it. Your bard was poisoned or dosed with something either from the blade, or he ingested it. It's slowing down his breathing and heart rate a lot and made him bleed out faster," the healer replied, and she crossed her arms. "His wounds already look like they are infected, and there isn't anything I can do about that. So he'll live, for now, but I don't know if he's going to wake up." Lambert stared down at the sleeping human in front of him and had no idea what he was supposed to do with that information. He wanted to tell the healer that Jaskier had to survive because if he didn't, Ciri and Geralt would be sad, but that would be giving the game away.

"Do you think you can save him?" he asked, and Lambert didn't even recognize his own voice. He didn't even know he could sound like that, and it was strange. He didn't fucking like sounding so vulnerable.

"I will do my best," the healer said. "My name is Katrien. What do they call you, Witcher?"

"Lambert, my name is Lambert," he replied.

"Well, I can assume you know how to hunt, Lambert, so why don't you go catch us some fresh meat while I start the rest of dinner?" Katrien said. He blinked and stared at her; she was offering to share a meal? "I don't have anywhere in the house you can stay but if you don't mind the floor--"

"The floor is more than enough," Lambert said probably a bit too quickly. Katrien nodded and walked over to Jaskier. She placed a hand on his forehead and cheek as she looked him over.

"Go and find us something to eat, Lambert," she said. "I'll keep an eye on your brother's bard."

+++

The next seven days were strange because Lambert couldn't remember the last time he had stayed in one place for so long. Katrien was right that there was something else going on with Jaskier. On day three, he spiked an insanely high fever that woke Lambert up in the middle of the night. He frantically yelled for Katrien, who came in and said that they needed to lower Jaskier's body temperature immediately. That was how Lambert ended up sprinting through the woods to a nearby stream to get some cold water to help try and keep Jaskier from boiling his own brain. The fever didn't break for three more days, and Katrien looked more and more worried the longer it persisted.

Jaskier also didn't wake up once, which worried Lambert more than he cared to admit. For the entire winter, two things that Jaskier rarely was for any period of time was quiet and still. Now they were six days of him not saying a word and not moving. He didn't know what to do with any of it or how he was supposed to react. Katrien was interesting company and only the second human he had ever met that didn't smell afraid of him. He asked why one night, and she smiled to say that if she were afraid she would have slipped something into his food that would have knocked even a Witcher flat on their ass. That was the first night Lambert seriously considered seeing if she wanted to sleep with him but decided against it. He needed her to keep Jaskier alive, and that was his primary focus right now.

Katrien had him go out and find herbs in the woods, do some basic work around her house, and even sent him to go kill a few monsters she heard about from neighboring villages that would pay for contracts. Lambert made sure they were quick jobs that wouldn't keep him away for more than a day, and he made sure that he always fell asleep on the floor next to Jaskier's bed. It wasn't that he cared for the fucking bard, it had nothing to do with actually hearing the idiot sing that fucking Toss a Coin song again, it was only because he wanted Ciri and Geralt to be happy.

And that if Yennefer was alive and he let Jaskier die, she would probably skin him alive, and she could probably do it without any issues.

On day seven, the fever finally broke, and Katrien looked relieved. The wounds didn't smell infected anymore and that the bard just smelled like a human that had spent the day six days sleeping in sweat-soaked sheets. He mentioned it offhand, and Katrien had him lift Jaskier into his arms so she could change the bedding. As he waited, he heard Jaskier's breathing and heartbeat kick up a bit, and he realized the bard was waking up.

"Jaskier? Can you hear me?" Lambert asked, unsure of what else to do. Katrien frowned as she finished changing the bed. "He's waking up; his breathing and heartbeat changed just a little, so he's waking up."

"Maybe I should keep you around; that kind of information could be useful," Katrien said, and she gestured for Lambert to set Jaskier back in the bed. Katrien got a glass of water, and they both watched as Jaskier twitched for the first time in a week. He sucked in a breath, and Lambert breathed a sigh of relief to see those blue eyes open for the first time.

"Jaskier?" Katrien said, and Lambert jerked because her voice was three octaves higher than when she talked to him, and she sounded softer. "My name is Katrien, and I'm a healer. You were hurt, but you seem to be recovering. Can you tell me what was the last thing you remember?" Jaskier blinked once, twice, and opened his mouth to say something when nothing came out. His eyes widened, and he put a hand to his throat as his mouth continued to move, but nothing came out. The smell of pure terror hit Lambert like a horse just kicked him in the stomach. He moved without thinking so Jaskier could see him.

"Hey, bard, Jaskier, it's me. It's Lambert, and right now, your heart is about to explode. It's beating so fast, and you're going to hyperventilate," he said. Lambert didn't mean to all but shove Katrien out of the way, but the next thing he knew, he was sitting on the edge of the bed and placing one of Jaskier's hands over his heart. "Feel my heart? Feel me breathing? Count my heartbeats and breathe when I do." Lambert took a deep breath and released it slowly. He could hear Jaskier trembling as he did the same, and they breathed together until Jaskier's heartbeat slowed down. His blue eyes were wide, and he was still afraid. Lambert thought about the mark on his neck and the stink of magic. "Someone took your voice. A sorceress or a sorcerer took your voice, am I right? Just nod or shake your head." Jaskier nodded slowly, and Katrien swore from behind him. Lambert didn't jump because he was a fucking Witcher, and he absolutely did not forget that Katrien was right there.

"I'm sorry, Jaskier, but I'm no mage. If it was magic that took your voice, then there isn't anything I can do to help you," she said. Katrien walked away, but Lambert was watching Jaskier, who still had his hand over Lambert's heart. He tried to think about what Ciri would do in this situation; she would comfort him somehow. Lambert took Jaskier's hand into his and squeezed it.

"I found you," Lambert explained because Jaskier probably wanted to know what was going on and couldn't exactly ask. "I was just riding down the road and you portaled about half a mile away from me. Can I assume it was Yennefer who portaled you?" Jaskier nodded again, and Lambert wanted to ask what happened, but he could only glean so much from yes or no questions.

"This should help," Katrien said as she returned with a quill, a small bottle of ink, and an old notebook that looked like it was about to fall apart. She helped Jaskier sit up, and Lambert really didn't like the way he winced from such small movements. Jaskier released Lambert's hand and picked up the notebook and quill. His hands were shaking a little, but he seemed steady enough. He began to write, and Lambert waited so he could get some sort of explanation as to what the fuck was going on. It took a little while, but Jaskier eventually handed him the notebook. Katrien didn't look at the notebook and didn't ask to read it.

'Yennefer and I were traveling,' Jaskier wrote. 'My parents heard the song and thought I was in mourning, so they called me home. They are the Viscount and Viscountess de Lettonhove. Yennefer and I went to their home. They drugged us and made some sort of deal with Nilfgaard; in exchange for Yennefer, they would spare my life. They wounded me and said that I was going to be executed despite the deal my parents struck. Their sorceress, a woman, named Fringilla, managed to beat Yennefer. She told me I wasn't allowed to sing any more lies and took my voice. Yennefer made a portal and shoved me through it. The last thing I remember was hearing you talk.'

"Was I right? It was a mage?" Katrien asked, and Lambert nodded. "Then I'm afraid there isn't anything I can do for you, bard. The only thing that can undo magic like that is magic." She looked between the two of them and eyed the way Lambert kept the notebook strategically out of her sight. "I'll give you boys some time to catch up. I'll go to the market for herbs." Katrien gathered her things and walked out of the house, so they didn't have to worry about her looking in on their conversation.

"So Nilfgaard has Yennefer then," Lambert said as he handed Jaskier the notebook back. "And they think the song isn't true, but they don't exactly have any proof of it either." Jaskier nodded again. "And Yennefer is the only one who could figure out if there's a way to get your voice back." Jaskier went a little pale, and Lambert realized what he had just said. "Not if, obviously, there isn't any if it can come back. That fucking witch will figure out how to get it back, obviously. You need to keep singing lies about Witcher's and my brother." Jaskier blinked, and he smiled a little for the first time since he woke up. He opened the notebook and began to write.

'We need to help her,' he wrote.

"You're injured not to mention human, how do you expect to go up against a mage and an entire group of Nilfgaardian soldiers?" Lambert asked. Jaskier made a face and began to write again.

'I'm not entirely human,' Jaskier wrote, and Lambert's eyes widened. 'I'm half-elf, but that's not the point. I can't just leave her in their hands; she would do the same for me if they had me.' Lambert frowned and thought this sounded like a suicide mission. Jaskier began to write again and held up the notebook. 'I'll go alone if I have to. You saved my life, so if you need to move on now, you can. I understand.'

"And let you throw your life away after I went through all of this trouble and all of this coin saving it? I don't fucking think so, bard," Lambert snapped. Jaskier blinked and stared at him with those wide, almost too blue eyes, and it felt like Jaskier was seeing into his soul. Is this how Geralt felt all of the time whenever Jaskier turned the full focus of his attention on him? No wonder Geralt was such a distracted idiot around this bard. It was like Jaskier was reading his mind, and he didn't fucking like it. "Fucking bard, don't look at me like that, fine. We'll go help your mage, but we're going to need help."

'Who would help us?' Jaskier wrote.

"I have no real way of tracking down Eskel, but I do know someone who is probably willing to help us slaughter some Nilfgaardians, and I can usually find him too," Lambert replied. Jaskier smiled, and it was that feral smile that he sometimes saw when Jaskier was about to do or say something bloodthirsty and remind everyone that he wasn't the helpless bard they all thought he was.

'Good,' Jaskier wrote and underlined it three times.

+++

Jaskier wanted to leave right away because he was a fucking idiot that didn't seem to realize that despite some elvaan blood, he was still mortal. Lambert told him to stay in bed, but when he didn't listen, he figured it was time to let the idiot learn his lesson. Jaskier managed to get to his feet, took two steps, and collapsed to the ground. Lambert was feeling pretty smug about being right until Katrien opened the door and proceeded to lose her fucking mind over Jaskier moving and Lambert allowing it to happen. Jaskier frantically wrote that they didn't have time for this, that someone needed their help, but Katrien glared and said that he nearly died. He needed three days minimum before he could be up and moving about.

'Two days,' Jaskier wrote like this was something he could argue his way out of.

"Three days," Katrien replied, and the two of them glared at each other. Jaskier suddenly smirked and wrote in the notebook.

'Two days and Lambert agrees to let me ride the horse and do no walking,' he wrote. Lambert wanted to argue against that, but it probably wasn't a bad idea, and they did have some land that needed to be covered. He heard plenty of rumors, and he knew more or less where they needed to go, and it would take time. Katrien narrowed her eyes and eventually threw her arms up in the air in the defeat.

"Fine, put all of my healing to waste, see if I give a shit," she said and walked into the small kitchen to start making them food. Jaskier watched her go and wrote in his notebook.

'If I weren't a committed man, I would absolutely try to sleep with her,' Jaskier wrote, and Lambert rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure the lady has better taste than you bard," he replied, and Jaskier looked offended but didn't bring it up again. By the time Jaskier was done eating dinner, he was clearly already tired and fell asleep as soon as he laid down. Lambert watched him and realized he didn't need to stay here like this anyone. He could leave if he really wanted to, but he promised he would help keep Jaskier from killing himself. Lambert still didn't want to go home and tell Ciri and Geralt that he let the idiot bard run into the woods and get himself killed.

"In the next village over there is a craftsman you should go see tomorrow," Katrien said as she cleaned the kitchen.

"I have all of the gear I need," Lambert replied, and Katrien looked at him like he was an idiot.

"Paper and ink are expensive, and your bard is going to need a lot of it if he's going to communicate with you. So you need to find something else and that something is a clay tablet where he can write something and smug it away. It means only carrying the tablet instead of paper, ink, and quills," she explained. "He also doesn't have any clothes that aren't soaked in blood and no weapon. He'll be traveling with you, Witcher, and he'll be weakened, so you need to take care of him." Lambert wanted to argue that he only needed to take care of himself but realized that Katrien was right as she usually was. He laid down on the floor and planned to leave to do his errands in the morning.

It didn't take long to find the clay tablet, and the man who sold it to him looked very confused by the action. There was a decent rapier at the blacksmith that wasn't the nicest thing in the world, but Jaskier was weak right now, so a lighter weapon was probably a good idea. Lambert had an extra dagger that Jaskier could borrow if he needed to. Finally, he found some more clothes for the bard. They didn't have much in the way of color, but Lambert remembered that Jaskier is supposed to be in mourning. So he bought two dark grey chemises, a grey and a black doublet, and two pairs of black slacks, all of which looked like they would fit the bard. It was more money than he had ever spent on another person that wasn't a high-class whore in his fucking life, and by the gods did Geralt owe him for this.

When he got back to Katrien's house, she was holding Jaskier's hands and helping him walk across the room. He was shaking, and he looked a little unsteady, but he wasn't leaning entirely on her. There was an empty plate, which was a good sign. At least Jaskier was keeping food down. They both looked up when he walked in the door, and Jaskier smiled that bright and stupid smile that always made Geralt and Yennefer stare at him like idiots. Lambert was not impressed and instead raised an eyebrow. Jaskier rolled his eyes and waved Lambert off. It was amazing how the bard managed to communicate without words, which meant he was going to be annoying as fuck even without a voice.

"Did you get everything you needed?" Katrien asked as she watched Jaskier sit down in one of the chairs in the house.

"Yeah, I got everything," Lambert replied. "For the record, the second you get your voice back, you're paying me back for all of this fucking shit." Jaskier blinked, and Lambert handed him the clothes, the sword, and the tablet that he could write on. Lambert wasn't surprised when Jaskier looked like he was about to burst into tears, and that was not something he could handle. "If you cry, bard, I will break your fingers." Jaskier smiled and began to write on the tablet.

'I promise the first night I get my voice back, I'll toss plenty of coins to my Witcher,' he wrote, which made Lambert bristle. He wasn't Jaskier's, he didn't belong to the bard in any capacity, and the idea turned his stomach a little. Lambert muttered something and almost ran outside to get his horse ready so they could travel tomorrow. They needed to head north because they had to find help, and they needed to find Yennefer and the Nilfgaardians. They wouldn't risk portaling another sorceress because that would probably end badly for them. Not to mention there were any number of reasons why they wouldn't want to drag Yennefer all the way South. If he were a betting man, he thought they would hang her at Sodden Hill in retribution.

Lambert wasted time outside until he went back into the house and ate dinner with Katrien and Jaskier. They managed to talk, but Lambert kept to himself. He was going to have to do plenty of talking with Jaskier once they got out onto the road.

"Lambert," Katrien said, and he looked up at her. "Your bard here settled your debt for keeping him alive."

"How? He doesn't have anything," Lambert said. He wasn't even sure he had the coin to give Katrien for her services as it was after buying the clothes, the tablet, and the sword.

"You didn't tell me he was part elvaan," she said. "I've had some texts that could help me save more lives, but they were in Elder, and I couldn't find anyone to translate them. Your little bard not only translated them but explained that the metaphor in some of the texts drastically changes if you don't know the language properly. Those books have been a burden for me for many years, so consider us even." Jaskier beamed and wiggled his eyebrows at Lambert.

By the gods, this was going to be a long trip.

+++

They left by dawn on the third day, and Lambert ignored how frail Jaskier felt in his arms as he lifted the man onto his horse. His face was clean-shaven, and Katrien had even trimmed his hair. The clothes that Lambert bought him were a little big, but now that he was looking, he could see the posh son of a Viscount lying beneath the surface. He hated nobles; they were all the fucking worst, but then he remembered how Jaskier would volunteer to go out and hunt during the winter and always came back with plenty of meat. Perhaps there was another exception to his "fucking nobles" rule aside from Ciri, but he didn't want to think about that right now.

Katrien gave Jaskier a few tonics to help with the pain and make sure that the healing wounds continued to heal well. He smiled from up on the horse and managed to lean down enough to take Katrien's hand and kiss it. She blushed prettily, and Lambert looked away. She walked up to him and crossed her arms.

"You know, the people in the market talked about you," she said. "They talked about the Witcher who killed drowners when there was no contract and didn't take any coin for it. They don't know what to make of you."

"Let's keep it that way," Lambert replied. "Are you sure I don't owe you anything? I don't like being in debt to people." Katrien waved him off and smiled.

"Stop by next time you come through the area," she said. Lambert was about to ask why the fuck he would do that when she leaned forward and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jaskier smirking, and thank god the fucking bard couldn't talk. Katrien smiled and walked back toward her house. "Good luck, boys try not to get killed." Lambert didn't know what he was supposed to do next, so he took the reins of his horse and began to walk out of the village as fast as his feet could carry him. Jaskier was trying to get his attention, but he really didn't want to talk right now. Eventually, Jaskier gave up, and they began to walk north in silence.

It was mid-afternoon that Lambert could hear the little hitches in breath from Jaskier, and he knew the idiot bard was in pain. Maybe Katrien was right, and they had left way too early, and he needed more time to heal. Lambert gritted his teeth and walked off to the side.

"We're taking a break," Lambert said as Jaskier blinked at him. Jaskier began to try to get off of the horse himself slowly, but Lambert wasn't going to let that. He all but picked the bard up and carried him to a nearby try so he could rest. Jaskier nodded and pulled out his tablet. He began to write and turned it around.

'Who are we looking for?' he wrote.

"There are other Witcher schools," Lambert said because it was just easier to explain this shit than have Jaskier keep asking. "Most of them are gone or dead, but there are a few more of us running around. One of those that are running around is a--" Lambert cut himself off because he didn't know how to describe what Aiden was to him. They were close, extremely close, and they had absolutely fucked on and off for longer than Jaskier has been alive, but putting a word to it seemed strange. "--an ally, I guess. Cat Witchers are kind of fucked up, and they are always looking for an excuse to kill people. So we won't have to ask or offer much. He'll just come along for the ride because it'll be fun for him." Lambert messed with the saddlebags so he wouldn't have to look at Jaskier because he could feel the bard studying him, and he fucking hated it. A small rock hit him, and he turned around to see Jaskier holding up the tablet.

'You think the three of us will be enough?' he wrote.

"Unless Aiden is traveling alone, there are more cats out there, and they travel as a group in a caravan. Their version of Kaer Morhen moves the fuck around, so if Aiden is with the other Witcher's we'll have more than enough bodies to take those Nilfgaardian fucks out," Lambert said.

'Spar with me so I can get used to this new blade?' Jaskier wrote. Lambert didn't want the idiot to get hurt, but he needed to train with an unfamiliar blade if they were going to make this work. They spared for about an hour and continued on the road in silence. Jaskier fell asleep as soon as they finished eating, and Lambert spent way, way too long watching him breathe.

+++

Lambert heard rumors of Aiden after two days of traveling with Jaskier, and he was relieved that they were on the right track. He also knew that staying in towns or cities was not possible. If Nilfgaard was willing to go as far north as Lettenhove to get to Jaskier or Yennefer, there was no telling where they would be lurking. That wasn't even including any mercenaries that they might have hired the moment Jaskier got shoved through that portal. So towns and cities were out which was not good for a man that had almost died less than ten days ago. Lambert gave up his bedroll and tried to keep Jaskier as comfortable as possible as he tried not to think about how fragile he was.

If Jaskier was bothered by any of this, he never made it known, which confused Lambert a little bit. Yennefer and Geralt both used to say that Jaskier always complained about sleeping in the woods and how he wanted fine things. If he had complaints about the way they were traveling, he didn't say anything about it. In fact, Jaskier's inability to speak made his written words even harder to understand, and the man could conceal how he was feeling with his body better than anyone Lambert had ever met. Jaskier wasn't talking, and now it was like he didn't even know if the idiot bard was in pain or if his wounds were healing well.

Lambert helped him learn how to use the rapier, and Jaskier took to it well. Lambert wanted to ask him how he learned how to use a weapon like that, and then he remembered that Jaskier was a noble. It was extremely common for noble young men to learn how to use a sword like that, and Jaskier didn't turn up to Kaer Morhen with no training at all. He just wasn't very good before Vesemir got a hold of him. He was getting stronger by the day, and it was fascinating to watch him train. No human could move that gracefully, and now that he was looking, Lambert felt like a fucking idiot for not seeing the elf in the bard. No eyes were that blue; no one moved like that naturally, and if the idiot could sing, he could probably infuse it with a little magic.

When Lambert realized that Aiden wasn't slowing down, he knew they needed to share the horse. He didn't name the animal, and the look that Jaskier gave him about that was a little annoying, but Lambert didn't say a word.

"We're going to have to share if we're going to catch Aiden," Lambert said. Jaskier nodded and moved back in the saddle so Lambert could climb up. It felt strange to have another person so close to his back, and Lambert tensed when Jaskier put his arms around his waist to hold on. Lambert turned his eyes to the sky and mentally asked the gods why they were making his life so difficult. There wasn't time to dwell on that, and he kicked his horse into a gallop through the forest. Lambert didn't make any move to conceal himself, and when he was reasonably sure that the Cat Witcher's were nearby, he slowed to a trot and just waited. Jaskier poked him and made a gesture with his hands that could only mean, "what's going on?"

"I know you're out there," Lambert said, ignoring Jaskier. He was going to be difficult to explain to the Cats, and he really hoped that the bard's inability to speak kept him from getting himself killed. The day before, Lambert had spent some time explaining to Jaskier how Cat Witcher's were different. The School of the Cat did something to their formula, and all Cat Witcher's, including Aiden, was mad. Lambert told him to do his best not to do anything that could offend someone, or he finds himself gutted. Instead of looking afraid that he was going to be walking into a camp full of bloodthirsty and possibly mad, Witcher's, Jaskier looked fascinated like he wanted to ask a million questions. It was the last thing that Lambert wanted to get into at the time.

There was the sound of movement in the woods, and Lambert watched as Aiden emerged from the shadows. They hadn't run into each other in a couple of years, and Lambert could see a few new scars on Aiden's body. He was staring at Jaskier like he didn't know what to do with a human, or someone who looked and smelled human, sitting on a horse with Lambert.

"He's not a danger to you or anyone else," Lambert said as he gestured to Jaskier. "He can't even talk right now because of a sorceress, and that's sort of the reason why we're here. Can we talk?"

"I'm not taking you to the group until I know who he is," Aiden said, which was understandable. Lambert nodded and climbed off of his horse. Jaskier was watching Aiden with wide eyes and also jumped down to the ground. Aiden blinked, and Lambert saw him take a deep breath and come to the same conclusion that Lambert did all of those months ago in Kaer Morhen; why is this mortal bard unafraid of the armed Witcher's staring him down.

Jaskier carefully moved his hands to his pack while maintaining eye contact with Aiden in a way that was telegraphing what he was doing. It was intentional, so when he reached into the bag, Aiden didn't think he was pulling a weapon. Instead, Jaskier removed some bread, cheese, and dried meat that Lambert had bought from a nearby village while Jaskier hid in the woods. He took a step toward Aiden and held some of the food out. Aiden eyed Jaskier but accepted some of the food, which meant no one was going to get killed. The burn on Jaskier's neck was still red and ugly looking.

"That the reason you're a mute?" Aiden asked, and Jaskier nodded. "All right, tell me what's going on."

+++

It took some time to explain the situation to Aiden in a way that would convince him to help. When he found out that Jaskier was the one who wrote Toss a Coin, he was amused, which was a better reaction than Lambert was expecting. Jaskier seemed to realize that keeping quiet was probably in his best interest and only answered questions when Aiden directly asked them. The hardest part was explaining why Jaskier had a Witcher medallion and that Geralt wasn't actually dead. If there was something that could set Aiden off, it was that. Instead, he threw his head back and laughed.

"You managed to convince that old fuck in Kaer Morhen to give up a medallion? You must be something special, bard," Aiden said. Lambert wanted to argue against Vesemir being an old fuck, but they didn't really have time to get to that.

"Nilfgaard has Yennefer, and this idiot is determined to get her back," Lambert said as he gestured to Jaskier, who smirked. "I have no idea where Eskel is, and everyone needs to keep thinking Geralt is dead. I wanted to know if you or the Caravan would be willing to help."

"Little Bard, you go through all of this trouble trying to convince people that we aren't killers, and now you want us to become killers?" Aiden asked. Jaskier began to write on his tablet, and after a moment, he held it up so both of them could read it.

'No witnesses, no problem,' he wrote, which sounded like something Aiden would say who, Lambert was not surprised, was delighted to see someone write that.

"You're a bloodthirsty little things, aren't you. I guess to run around with Witchers and witches you would have to be," Aiden replied. He crossed his arms and studied Jaskier for what felt like a long time. Jaskier didn't look away from that stare even once, which was a little impressive considering that Aiden was mad as shit and could kill Jaskier for his pinky finger. "All right, I'll help, but we'll have to go talk to the rest of the Caravan." Lambert wasn't sure what he thought about Jaskier being around a bunch of Cat Witcher's, but he didn't really have much of a choice. They needed help, and he didn't know who else they could possibly ask.

+++

In retrospect, Lambert felt like such a fucking idiot. Jaskier couldn't talk, but he was still a charming asshole who managed to get into the good graces of the entire Caravan of Cat Witchers. Of course, the feral little bard got along with a bunch of mad Witcher's; he fit right in to a stupidly well degree. Lambert had tried to keep an eye on him, but Jaskier just kept wandering off, and it seemed like he wasn't going to get himself killed. Lambert shook his head and watched as the Caravan interacted with each other. It reminded him of the early years at Kaer Morhen and being around more enough Witcher's that he needed two hands to count them. Now, here he was, about trying to convince a bunch of bloodthirsty Cats to go and kill a bunch of humans to save a witch that his brother and this bard happened to be fucking.

Lambert wanted to know when his life got so fucking weird. It was easier for a long time; he would go out on the Path, try not to get killed, and go home for the winter. It was all weird and complicated now. He was in his own thoughts, but he did hear Aiden as he walked up behind him and looked out at the camp.

"Your brother's bard is interesting," Aiden said.

"He's fucking mad, which is why he gets along with you," Lambert replied. Aiden laughed and took him by the arm. He shouldn't leave Jaskier alone, but he hadn't seen Aiden in a long time, and he did like spending time with him. They walked a little further into the woods until they were alone enough that no one would bother them, but Lambert couldn't hide that he was still uneasy about leaving Jaskier alone. He wanted to fuck, he was amped up, but the fucking bard was all he could worry about.

"You think someone from my school is going to hurt Geralt's bard?" Aiden asked. "You do know that song improved things for all of us and not just Geralt."

"The idiot is mad like I said, and I can just see him saying something to set someone off," Lambert said, and he sighed. "Fuck, I don't think I can do this right now. That's so annoying." Aiden smirked and began to walk Lambert backward until he hit a tree. Lambert let it happen, and they were about the same height, but Aiden had a way of towering over people.

"All right, not a big deal," Aiden replied. "Besides, we'll have plenty of energy we'll need to work off once those Nilfgaardian fucks are dead."

"Maybe I'm the insane one for sleeping with you," Lambert said, and Aiden laughed again. He was tempting, so tempting, but the idea of the fucking bard getting hurt and not even being able to call for help was too distracting. Aiden seemed to realize that and took a step back. They began to walk back to the Caravan together, and Lambert was glad he couldn't smell any blood in the air.

"You must really care about him," Aiden said.

"I don't want Geralt or Ciri to be sad. Aside from that, I don't give a shit," Lambert replied, but now that he finally said those words out loud, he could hear how much of a massive lie it was. Aiden could hear it too, Lambert was sure of that, but he didn't call him on it. That would require a conversation that he wasn't in the mood to have. "Do you think this plan will work?"

"Of course it will," Aiden replied. "That war might bring us a lot of work, but do you really think that Nilfgaard is going to let Witcher's wander around and keep walking on the Path? Not a chance, so we need them gone as much as everyone else on the continent. Once we find them? We'll take the feral little bard's advice and won't leave any witnesses." Aiden paused as they walked into the camp and watched as Jaskier was frantically writing on his tablet to a small crowd of Witcher's that looked like they were hanging on his every word. All of the Witcher's were armed and would probably kill him if he wrote the wrong word down, yet he sat there and didn't smell like fear. It was clear that no one really knew how to deal with someone who looked human that didn't smell afraid.

Lambert didn't blame them; he still didn't know how to deal with it.

+++

It wasn't that hard to track down a group of Nilfgaardian soldiers that were heading south in a fast way. Lambert stayed close to Jaskier while Aiden scouted ahead, and they moved north quickly. It was clearly taking a toll on Jaskier, who was still healing from his wounds, but he never said anything about it. Aiden came back to camp after a week and said that he had found the Nilfgaardian soldiers. Lambert grinned and glanced at Jaskier, who had a look on his face that he hadn't ever seen before. That was a man who had killed and would be killing again tonight. That was a man willing to get blood on his hands and die for someone.

Jaskier looked like a warrior.

Lambert and Aiden left their horses safely tied away and walked down the road toward the approaching Nilfgaardians. He was expecting the smell of magic, but instead, he smelled blood and burnt flesh. He glanced at Aiden, who was frowning.

"Something isn't right," Lambert said, and Jaskier glanced at him. "Men are approaching, but that's it. I don't feel any magic in the air, and there's blood." Jaskier frowned, and they continued to approach. There were two dozen men total, and they all looked wounded in some way. There was no sign of the mage that took Jaskier's voice and no sign of Yennefer anywhere. The man leading the group looked like half of his head got shoved into a fire; half of his black hair was burned on, and his skin was still an ugly red. Lambert could smell the infection in these men. Aiden glanced at him; this wasn't what they planned for.

"The bard Jaskier," the man said, and Lambert could only assume this was Cahir. Ciri and Jaskier both had mentioned him by name. "And here I thought my luck had run out." He looked between Aiden and Lambert with a crazed look in his eye. "Two Witcher's too and one from the same school as Geralt of Rivia. Oh, how lucky I am, you walked directly into my hands." Jaskier bared his teeth and took a step forward, and Cahir laughed as his men, wounded and sick as they all were, began to pull out their weapons. Lambert put a hand on Jaskier's shoulder to stop him from charging headfirst into a battle.

"Where is the witch? You let us have her, and you can leave with your life," Lambert said, which was a lie, but it was the right thing to do. Cahir sneered, and Lambert thought, with half of his face burned off, that must have fucking hurt.

"The witch? Who do you think did this to all of us? The witch is gone, who the fuck knows where, and Fringilla went looking for her. I thought I was going to have to return to my Emperor empty-handed," Cahir replied and pulled out his sword. "The three of you, though? That should make up for losing the witch."

"You're going to die bloody human," Aiden said with that manic grin that said everything was about to go sideways. Lambert knew that look well, and most of the time, he ran the other direction. This time? As long as Aiden didn't turn his bloodlust on him or Jaskier, he didn't care.

"Oh? You think two Witcher's and a human can take two dozen of my finest men?" Cahir said with a laugh.

"Two Witcher's?" Aiden said, and he whistled. The rest of the Cat school had agreed to join the fight after Jaskier spent the night convincing all of them; it was worth it with just the words he wrote on his tablet. Aiden was a dramatic little shit and Jaskier even more so; they both loved this plan, and this reveal. Witcher's surrounded the men on all sides, and the smile on Cahir's face fell. "No witnesses?" Aiden asked Jaskier, who drew his blade, smiled, and nodded.

With as many Witcher's as they, almost a dozen, the men didn't stand a chance. They were expecting at least one mage, so they were overprepared. As Lambert cut through the soldiers, he could see the Cat Witcher's purposely playing with their kills and letting the fight go on long. Jaskier immediately tried to fight Cahir, and Lambert wanted to stop that. Jaskier was rather brilliant with his little blade, but Cahir was the better fighter. They clashed back and forth, and almost all of the Witcher's looked up when Cahir drew blood on Jaskier's chest. Lambert shoved his steel sword through the chest of a soldier and turned to take care of Cahir once and for all. The man was backing away from Lambert as he seemed to realize that he was about to die.

"This isn't over," Cahir hissed. He pulled something out of his pocket and threw it on the ground. There was a bright light that flashed and burned Lambert's eyes. His medallion vibrated from magic, and by the time he could see again, Cahir was gone, and all that remained was the dust settling from a portal. Jaskier was bleeding from a cut on his chest, but he was also shaking with what looked like anger. He turned to Lambert and gestured around; there weren't any words, but Lambert understood what Jaskier was saying.

"I know, I don't know where she is either," Lambert said softly. It sounded like Yennefer managed to save herself, which wasn't that surprising, but now they had no idea where to go. Lambert glanced at Aiden as he told the rest of the Cat Witcher's to go back to the Caravan. He walked up and looked at Jaskier.

"No, witch?" he asked.

"No, witch," Lambert replied. "Gods fucking damn it, of course, that woman would rescue herself, I don't know why we thought otherwise." Jaskier kept his back to both of them, his shoulders hunched over, and his fists clenched so tightly Lambert could smell the blood from where Jaskier was cutting into his own hands.

"What will you do now?" Aiden asked, and Lambert sighed. He was supposed to be done with Jaskier and going off for a post-battle fuck with Aiden, but that wasn't possible. Yennefer was still missing, possibly hurt if she wasn't able to get away from saving herself safely, and Jaskier still had no money and no voice.

"Got to keep the fucking bard alive," Lambert replied, and Aiden nodded like he wasn't surprised. Aiden knocked their shoulders together and walked back into the woods toward their horses. He would be long gone by the time Lambert got back to his belongings. He sighed and walked up to stand next to Jaskier, who was staring at the bloody battle before them. "Where to next?" Lambert asked.

That question seemed to bring Jaskier back to reality, and he blinked and stared at Lambert. Lambert knew what the bard was asking and that annoyed him. "Yeah, well, you're fucking useless, and you'd be dead without me, so I guess I have to keep watching out for you. You know, keep you from getting yourself killed, which would make Geralt and Ciri sad, and Yennefer would probably skin me alive for it." Jaskier blinked, smiled softly to himself, and shook his head. He pointed back the way the soldiers were coming from and shrugged. "All right, north it is. Your witch saved herself, so let's go fucking find her," Lambert replied.