Today was all fucked up.
Lambert scowled as his horse trotted towards Belhaven. It had started out normally enough. He had been heading through Theodula Pass when the juvenile gryphon had set upon the merchant's small caravan. He'd heard it and been off his horse before it had crested over the nearest peak, but it still managed to overturn a cart and grab one of the squealing humans. A talon had gone straight through the man. At least his death had been relatively quick.
The fight was longer, but he'd downed the son of a bitch with no further casualties and only minor injuries to himself. Those had already started healing up as he'd cleaned off his sword and put it away. Though it wasn't the primary reason for his heading, he'd heard rumours of a contract out this way. With luck, the gryphon had been it.
But then he'd found himself saddled with a child. His hand clenched into a fist again with the desire he'd felt then to draw his steel sword to stop the kid being foisted on him, but the rich wanker had been insistent. How many humans would he have had to kill to stop it? All of them. And that would have still left him stuck with the kid. Better to not gain a reputation for mass slaughter like Geralt had. They didn't need more shit piled on them, and he doesn't have his own personal bard to polish his rough edges.
He watched the small kid walking beside him. The kid had softly curly black hair that reached down to his chin, light blue eyes, and his skin was a warm golden brown. The kid's long-sleeved tunic reached to his knees, and he wore trousers underneath, covering all of him but his hands and face. If Lambert had to guess, he'd say the kid wasn't much older than he had been when he'd been ripped away from his mother and taken to Kaer Morhen. If they could still make witchers, would he take the kid there for all the horrors that would await him in the keep's walls? The question with its uncertain answer sat uneasily in his stomach. He liked to think he wouldn't, but he hated the life he'd been forced into and yet he still did it - had done for decades. Besides. What else would he do with a child? The kid couldn't follow him around on the Path like Geralt's bard did with Geralt. It was far too dangerous. The kid would get himself killed.
The kid interrupted his thoughts asking for water, of all things. Not that he knew much about kids, but he was sure most kids would have asked a million questions by now and none about water, even if they were thirsty. No. He was fairly certain if a kid were thirsty, they would be whining about it, but this kid hadn't and had shut up pretty quick when he'd given him his waterskin. It was no big deal. With the money he got for the gryphon, he'd be able to buy another waterskin in the town. The kid caught his eye again. Some food, too. The kid looked like he could be blown away by a particularly stiff wind, and that wanker hadn't given him much in the way of rations before buggering off.
He frowned. Why did he have to get stuck with a kid? He nudged his horse just a little faster, wanting to get the kid out of his peripheral vision. His shoulders relaxed slightly when the kid didn't try to hurry along. The kid's heart had sped up a bit as Horse's pace did, but it settled down moments later. He guessed the kid realised he wasn't leaving him behind, just creating a little more distance between the two of them. Given what little Lambert knew of the wanker, the kid was probably used to it.
Not that he was anything like that bastard.
Even the rank smell of fear coming from the kid wasn't as strong as he had been expecting. But maybe that was just because the smell of monster guts was still stuck in his nostrils. He'd check again once he'd disposed of the trophy currently attached to his saddle. That was one of the reasons why he spent as little time in human settlements as he could. Who wanted to live with mistrustful looks and an almost overwhelming stench of soured milk? Not him. And if now he had to travel with a tiny one smelling like that, looking at him like he might Do Something to him, cringing from him like the townspeople not ballsy enough to challenge him - treating him as if he might behave like his fucking father just because he was a witcher… Well.
He wasn't going to stand for that.
Not for any longer than he absolutely had to, at least. Thank Melitele he was meeting up with Aiden as soon as his business was concluded. Aiden would help keep him sane until he could figure out how and where to ditch the kid. He'd help him keep the kid entertained, distracted - and Aiden would help keep him distracted from the burden of travelling with a child who feared him. Aiden would know how it would make Lambert's stomach clench with disgust and anger, how the decades-old memories he wished he could forget would flood his mind - and he'd know how to keep Lambert from being too grumpy around the kid.
"Come on, kid," he called as he spurred his horse into a more urgent pace. "I got places to be." The kid's steps quickened behind him, and Lambert kept half an ear out for him as he scanned their surroundings, primed and alert for danger.
The rest of the journey to Belhaven was blessedly boring, and the kid didn't complain once at the length of time, the pace, or the lack of any break. Despite himself, he was impressed, and he gave the kid another considering look as he pulled his horse to a stop just outside the town, long enough for him to dismount and continue on foot. The kid fell in step just beside and behind him. Lambert frowned slightly, wondering if he should tell the kid to walk in front of him - he didn't like having someone he was keeping track of behind him, even if he could still hear and smell him just fine - but then the kid didn't know where they were going. It would just be a different kind of liability to have him in front. Besides, if he made the kid walk in front, it might make it seem like he cared. He didn't care. Definitely not.
"Hang on to the straps," he said gruffly. "I don't want to have to waste time lookin' for you if you get separated in the crowd." He wouldn't go looking for the kid if the kid got himself lost. Probably not.
Lambert could practically feel the kid's confused yet judgy look at his back, but the kid did as he was told. An obedient kid. If the kid was going to be on the Path with him for any length of time, that was for the best. Maybe he wouldn't get himself killed after all. Lambert led the way through the market and ignored the growling of the kid's stomach as they wound through stalls selling pastries and sweetmeats and other delicacies.
The wary humans received glares in return, doubly so when they glanced horrified and sympathetic to the boy trailing behind him, as if Lambert had done something heinous by having the kid. The kid didn't seem to notice, still following obediently and quietly with his hand wrapped around the a leather strap. Lambert went right for the notice board in the town square and quickly scanned it, grinning as he yanked off a notice for a contract on a gryphon. Out of necessity, he talked to any humans that looked a little less rude to find directions to the alderman's house to collect his reward.
When they arrived, he hitched his horse to the post outside and then released the griffon's head. With that in one hand, he pointed to the hitching post with the other while pinning the kid with a hard look. "Stay," he said firmly. Given the boy's previous obedience, he trusted the kid would do so again, and he didn't wait around to watch the kid follow his directions, though with his witcher hearing he still heard the kid's faint "Yes, sir" of acknowledgment follow him as he walked away.
He knocked firmly on the door - almost more of a pounding - and tapped his foot a little impatiently for the door to be opened. The woman who answered - Alderwoman Karola, as it turned out - immediately paled as she took in the head he held and, rather reluctantly, invited him inside. She, Lambert thought as he stomped inside with wiping his dusty boots, should be grateful - the walk had been long enough that the head was no longer dripping blood and other fluids, so his monster wasn't dirtying her floor.
The door swung shut, and he stopped and dropped the head so he could cross his arms over his chest. "Saw the notice. Killed the beast. Saved the merchant who must have left town this morning. His caravan was attacked."
Karola blinked and looked up from the beast's severed head to his face. "Yes," she said faintly, "I can see that." She visibly pulled herself together, a last glance at the head before her shoulders squared and her back straightened, and she turned and headed towards a table where a warm bowl of stew and bread sat. "Well, the contract was for 100 gulden, so I will get you that, then you'll be on your way."
Lambert shook his head to her turned back. "No. That gryphon was in the pass only a couple hours out. It already snatched some villagers, or so the contract said, and it attacked that caravan." He glanced to her. "300."
Karola glanced up in disbelief. "We may be on a major trade route," she said, "but we are not a rich town, Sir Witcher, and we've just come off a hard winter. I'm afraid the most I can offer for your services is 150."
Lambert met her glare with a carefully casual raised eyebrow and leaned against the wall. "If I hadn't taken it out, your lovely town might not have any visitors from the south. Who knows how long it'd be before another witcher passed by? Spring's usually pretty busy for you, isn't it, Alderwoman, with the merchants heading to Rivia and the visitors on their way to festivals who spend their coin here?" His head tilted as he studied her. "Not only did I save any future travellers through the pass, I've also saved your money-making seasons. Without me, it'd be harder for your town to recover from a hard winter. 250."
Karola placed her hands atop the table and stared across it at the witcher, her lips pursed. Grain reports and ledgers ran through her head as she mentally calculated. She sighed. The witcher was right. If he hadn't slain the beast for them, more would die, and those travelling would likely circumnavigate their town, taking the other passes that led them through the mountains. But the beast was already slain. She could bargain harder on that basis. No. A sharp shake of her head dislodged that thought. While she didn't particularly like witchers - who did? - she wouldn't hold the deed being done against him, just as she wouldn't with any other guildsman. "200. That's my final offer."
Lambert's fingers dug into his arms as the woman's smell changed in a way he associated with some bastard about to screw him over. But then her scent cleared, and his fingers relaxed, though he remained tense and wary until she spoke. He tilted his head in acknowledgement. "200," he agreed, "and some provisions for the road. Honey, bread, cured meats - whatever you've got that'll keep."
"Fine." Karola straightened and pulled a key hanging on a slim silver chain around her neck from under her blouse. She moved away from the table and to a little desk, unlocking a drawer and counting out coins, adding them to a pouch before cinching it closed and tossing it towards the witcher. "Your coin," she said dryly. "Provisions will take a few minutes to gather. Have you a bag?"
Lambert snatched the pouch from the air and secured it to his belt. He nodded. "Ah. Yeah. Give me a second." He left, leaving the door wide open, and went right to the kid who was, as he'd thought, standing in the place he'd left him with a hand still around the hitching post. He gestured. "Give me your bag." The suspicion in the kid's scent made him roll his eyes, and his gesture grew a little impatient. "Come on, kid. Give me the bag. I'm gonna give it back to you. Cross my heart." He didn't know if the childish words had actually helped, but the kid slid his bag off his shoulders and handed it over. "Thanks." He turned and headed back inside, giving the bag to Karola. "You can fill that," he said, "but not too heavy."
Karola showed him to a seat to wait, and he took the opportunity to stretch his limbs. The stew on the table was rapidly approaching cold, and the alderwoman's meal was a reminder that he hadn't eaten since daybreak nor had he fed the kid. But his negotiations had brought extra food - one less thing to worry about, at least for a little while.
He nodded his thanks when Karola brought the filled bag back to him, and he was off once more. The bag was in the kid's hands and his horse free from the post before she could request that he take the gryphon's head away with him, and he led the kid back towards the small market, eyebrows lifting briefly in surprise and approval when the kid took the straps again without even being told. The kid's chances of survival might actually be quite high.
After he purchased a new waterskin, they paused at the food stall Lambert saw the kid eyeing with hungry longing, and he bought a selection of the pastries, shoving a couple towards the kid when the kid didn't look inclined to take one or ask directly for any. "Eat," he said as he tore into his while walking towards the town's boundary. "We still got a lot of travel today. You'll need the strength."
The kid didn't immediately tuck in to the pastry like Lambert would have expected of a child. Rather, his scent had turned strange - a mix of feelings Lambert couldn't quite parse - and he'd paused, as if this was so far off his script he couldn't both react to it and walk at the same time. But, before the kid had fallen far enough behind that Lambert would have needed to stop and wait for him, the kid hurried on and fell back into place.
"Thank you, master." The words were said absently, and Lambert supposed he couldn't fault the kid for calling him that when that was clearly what he'd been calling the adult in charge of him for who knows how long. As they reached the outskirts of town, he glanced back and was pleased to see the kid nimbly shoving pastry into his face like the thing might disappear any second. He smiled as he swung up into the saddle and nudged his horse to walk. Yeah, this could work.
The kid's stomach stopped growling once he'd been fed. Lambert was glad to have that annoying sound out of his ears. They took the road heading north-northwest, towards Sodden. He and Aiden had a spot where they'd agreed to meet, a tiny clearing the woods at the foot of the mountains in easy reach of a lake and a cave for extra shelter if the weather was bad. On his own, it wasn't too long of a journey, but with the kid, it would be closer to dusk than he'd like.
The kid seemed the quiet type, but to ensure both that and that they would arrive well before dark, Lambert kept their pace up, only slowing once he knew they were making good time. The fact the kid's heart seemed to be beating faster than it should and his breath coming with more difficulty than before had nothing to do with it.
Once the kid stopped sounding like his lungs might break, Lambert slowed his horse down even more so that he and the kid were alongside each other. "Hey, kid. Your Common's pretty good. For a Nilfgaardian."
Dari glanced distrustfully at his new master with an annoyed cast to the twist of his mouth, though he kept his face as blank as he could since he knew the master could see him. He sniffed and lifted his chin. "I am not Nilfgaardian, I have merely lived there many years. Common is, in fact, one of my mother tongues."
Lambert hid his smile at the kid's haughty tone and his clear dislike of being called Nilfgaardian. "One of them?" His own tone was still gruff, but there was an undercurrent of mirth to it.
"Hm." Dari's eyes narrowed as he realised his mistake, the realisation flooding through him like a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped on his head. The fact that he knew multiple languages was, for the most part, secret, and yet he'd just given it away to this stranger - a master, no less, even if he was also a witcher - with no thought. "Yes," he reluctantly replied.
At that, Lambert couldn't help but smirk. Seemed the kid was like a mini-Geralt. He could work with this, for now. "So how many languages do you speak, then?" He watched the kid from the corner of his eyes.
Dari's toes curled, and he sucked his lip in between his teeth. The witcher didn't feel any different than he had the whole day - angry but not in a way he'd expect to fear, now mixed with amusement, but - and he snuck a quick look at the witcher's face to confirm - it didn't seem to be at his expense. He pursed his lips as he considered his options. There weren't many, but perhaps he could yet play this off. "Just the two."
If he still had hair, Lambert's eyebrows would've lifted into his hairline as he caught the kid's lie. Why would the kid lie about this? He didn't reply right away, and the silence went on long enough that the kid grew more uneasy. "Witchers can always tell when someone is lying," he said with a glance to the boy. It was probably better for the kid to know that, so he wouldn't try to lie about something important in the future.
Dari's anxiety spiked, and it was his turn to go quiet. "I apologise, master," he replied stiffly with a thick swallow. He hadn't even made it a day before stumbling into a mistake that would surely be punished. He hadn't known that about witchers. Why didn't the stories say? He took a shuddering breath and his fingers clenched around the edges of his tunic as he forced himself to calm down, taking measured breaths and actively relaxing his shoulders. Witchers could tell when he was lying, but he'd only been asked how many languages he spoke. He could still save parts of his secret, in case he needed it - and he'd needed it before. "I speak four languages, all fluently." He paused, tilting his head as he reconsidered. "Or I did. My mother tongue… I have not spoken it in many years. I do not truly know if I still can." That was a truth. The witcher shouldn't be able to tell it wasn't the whole truth.
"Huh," Lambert said as he kept his tone light and looked away from the kid in the hopes it would help him settle and lose the nervousness. "That's quite a lot. Especially for a kid. Which one's your mother tongue, then, if it's not Common or Nilfgaardian?"
Not used to masters taking this much of an interest in him, the conversation was beginning to feel like an interrogation now, even though the witcher wasn't acting like he was conducting an interrogation. "Ofiri."
Lambert almost groaned when the kid's discomfort didn't abate. One more try, that was his limit. "Ofiri, huh? That's unusual. You know, I've been travelling a fuckin' long time, and I've never been there. Have you? Is that where you're from?"
Dari cleared his throat softly and began to relax. This felt more like conversations he'd had with servants, even if none of them had asked about where he was from before. "Yes, sir, I've been. I accompanied my master - former master - there on a trading trip a couple years ago. I had not been there before."
"Hm. And did you like it?" Lambert glanced at the kid and barely strangled the urge to reach out and ruffle the kid's hair. It likely wouldn't help the kid's fear, but it would otherwise be fun.
Dari nodded. "Yes, sir. It was warm there, and there were many people who looked more like me… I did not so much like the boat from Cidaris."
Lambert laughed. "I understand that, kid. I avoid trips to Skellige because of that. Love the drinking, hate all the fucking water."
Dari smiled softly. He'd never made a master laugh like that, and no master had ever treated him so easily. He didn't like to be called "kid", but it was better than boy - and the way the witcher said it was definitely better than the way his previous masters had spat "boy" at him. He looked up to the witcher, shading his eyes from the sun's glare so he could see him more clearly. "Master? May I ask…" He trailed off uncertainly and worried his lip. Questions could be dangerous, but the witcher's demeanor and the sincerity he felt from him made Dari feel brave enough to try. "May I ask where we are going?"
Lambert shrugged. "I never have a destination in mind. I follow the contracts. But right now, we're meetin' up with a…a friend of mine. We meet up a lot. Travel together. And you're here now. The Path's no place for a kid, so we'll have to figure out what to do with you."
Dari's eyes dropped back to the road at his feet. "Are you…" He took a deep, fortifying breath. "Will you return me to Nilfgaard to sell me?" His heart felt as if it was waiting to drop from the top of the tallest mountain.
"No." Lambert's voice was rough again and said with enough force that it caused the kid to flinch, even though the answer must be what the kid wanted. "No," he tried again, a little softer. "I don't agree with that. I don't know what we'll do with you, but it won't be that. I can promise you that much."
Dari's heart settled back into place behind his ribs, and his lungs reopened. "Oh. And… May I ask-"
"Ask whatever you want, kid," Lambert interrupted. "I don't give a shit. Ask your questions. You don't need to ask me to ask something."
Dari blushed. "Oh," he repeated. Those had never been the rules before, and it didn't sound like a good rule, for he often had so many questions bubbling up inside him. "Well, that is… Your friend. That we're, that you're, meeting. Are they a witcher, too?"
"Yeah. His name's Aiden, and he is a witcher, too." Lambert's brows furrowed as the kid smelled happy to learn that. That couldn't be right. He sniffed surreptitiously, but he still smelled excitement amongst the trepidation. What a strange kid. "Yeah, well. We still got a couple more hours to go at least, so shut up." If the kid didn't like the harsh words, he didn't show it, instead, he simply fell quiet as asked and kept the pace Lambert set.