The Witcher (One shots)

Things we realise

(Lambert x Aiden)

Aiden came back late from the hunt, so he wasn’t surprised to see Lambert’s back turned to him. Their campfire roared in the middle of saddle bags, sitting logs, and potion ingredients, but Lambert mashed nothing with his mortar and pestle. Instead, he stared at the fire, watching the firewood crackle under its weight as Aiden approached. Aiden crinkled his nose at the lack of fanfare, but he was a Witcher. He walked quietly and had little to no smell.

If Lambert didn’t want to notice he was there, Lambert wouldn’t notice. Aiden walked up to the camp, feeling lighter than he often did after a hunt, and bypassed the log Lambert sat on to sit across from him in the dirt. They normally sat together, but after Aiden halfway abandoned him, it felt too presumptuous to sit beside him again. As Aiden plopped down, he folded his ankles and rested his elbows on his knees. Lambert still didn’t look at him.

“Hey,” Aiden said. “You doing alright?”

No response, which only left Aiden to purse his lip. He deserved the silent treatment. Lambert expected Aiden to have his back, just as Aiden expected the same, and Aiden fucked it up royally in their last battle. It had been the two of them versus a royal wyvern. In a battle like that, Lambert relied on Aiden’s quick, low-cutting style, while Aiden needed Lambert’s heavy hitting, over-head attacks. They always took one down together, but something hadn’t gone right this time.

“I didn’t mean to get hit, alright? Thing blasted me over the side of that hill. Knocked my head real good, I think.”

Aiden ran his fingers through his hair and winced; his head still hurt, and his thoughts came foggier than before. He couldn’t remember much beyond the battle, but that didn’t bother him. He’d had concussions before, and so long as he didn’t fall into a coma, he’d get everything back by the time it healed. Some Swallow would hurry along the process, but the idea of tasting that bitterness on his tongue was enough to make his stomach churn. Maybe not.

“Look, I get it. You’re mad at me. Think I left you to fight the damn thing on your own, but I did try! Just took me longer to get my bearings than I thought. Everything hurt for a while, and…” Aiden sighed. “Maybe I rested longer than I should have. I wanted to get back to you to help, but I saw you defeated the beast, anyway.”

Still no response. Lambert shifted on the log long enough to grab a stick to stoke the fire, but he neither looked at nor spoke to Aiden. Aiden’s gut sunk lower, and he wrapped an arm around his belly to quell whatever retching he might want to do. This wasn’t right. Lambert had gotten mad at him before, and it usually resulted in shouting matches. Once they shouted themselves out, Lambert’s arms would wrap around him, and Lambert would hold him as tightly as Aiden held back.

“I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear? So fucking full of yourself, you can’t accept my mistake without making me grovel for it?” Aiden scoffed. “Fucking lug, you are.”

Nothing. Aiden’s forced ire died as he peered at Lambert, and something cold rose in his chest. Lambert didn’t look at him. He looked lost in the fire, like he hoped it might burn away his own body. The fire was far too small, and Lambert wasn’t trying very hard, but that was who he was. In all the times before they’d talked about death, Lambert had always said he’d go out in a blaze. He wouldn’t take a knife to his own neck, but he’d miss a strike at a pivotal moment and let a monster tear out his throat.

Now, Aiden’s throat tightened. Was Lambert never going to speak to him again? Was his mistake so large that Lambert couldn’t even look at him?

“Look, I said I’m sorry!” Aiden cried.

He grabbed the nearest rock and threw it across the campsite, but his aim was off, and his arm was weak. The rock landed at Lambert’s foot, jolting him from whatever stupor he’d found himself in. Lambert looked up, but his eyes didn’t meet Aiden’s.