Chapter Text
There were a few perks to being an Alpha in the Wolf School, and one of them was that the Witcher mutagens stripped away most of the traits that typically marked an Alpha, Beta, or Omega. For starters, nearly everyone in the Wolf School had no detectable scent, regardless of their secondary sex. It meant Lambert didn’t have to deal with the typical social pressures that came with being an Alpha. He could move through life without anyone, outside the school, at least, knowing he was the only one among the Wolves.
And Lambert liked it that way. He hated being an Alpha, hated what it implied to the outside world. People heard "Alpha" and immediately assumed things about him: that he was aggressive, entitled, or constantly trying to dominate others. Lambert had seen enough of that arrogance in other Alphas to make his stomach turn. The way they lorded their status over Omegas, acting as if the world owed them something, disgusted him.
So he kept his status under wraps whenever he could. To the outside world, he told anyone who asked that he was a Beta, just like Vesemir. Why bother telling people the truth? He didn’t need the extra attention, and he certainly didn’t want anyone looking at him differently because of it.
During his ruts, Lambert locked himself in his room at Kaer Morhen, keeping away from the rest of the keep. Not that anyone would have bothered him, but Lambert liked the privacy.
His thoughts, as they often did, began circling the same tired patterns. But just as they started to drag him down into frustration, the sound of the tavern door swinging open pulled him back to the present. His gaze shifted, and he couldn’t help but smirk as Aiden walked in, a satisfied spring in his step.
Aiden was one of the few people Lambert could call a friend. He was also an Omega, though it wasn’t immediately obvious to anyone who didn’t know what to look for. At a glance, most people assumed Aiden was a Beta, or even an Alpha. He was tall, taller than Lambert by an inch or so, with a lean but athletic build that gave him a commanding presence. His wavy black hair framed his face in soft, unruly curls, and his light brown skin seemed to glow under the dim light of the tavern. But it was his green eyes, bright, round, and full of life, that always stood out the most. They gave him an almost innocent look, a striking contrast to the sharp, dangerous edge that came with being a Cat.
Aiden’s grin widened as he caught sight of Lambert. He practically sauntered over to the table, dropping into the chair across from him like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“You wouldn’t believe it, Lambert,” Aiden began, his voice filled with excitement. “I saw this merchant today selling gold earrings, big, flashy ones. The kind you’d probably laugh at me for liking.” He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “But damn, they were nice. So shiny, like something straight out of a treasure hoard.”
Lambert rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at his lips.
“You’ve got a real thing for shiny things, don’t you?” Lambert teased, crossing his arms as he leaned back.
“Can you blame me? Jewelry’s underrated,” Aiden shot back, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Not that I’d wear anything that ostentatious, of course. But you know me, I like a little flair. Gold’s got a way of making things pop.”
Lambert didn’t argue; he’d noticed long ago how well gold suited Aiden. It wasn’t just the color itself; it was the way it seemed to enhance everything about him. The richness of his skin, the sharp angles of his face, the warmth in his smile. It was almost unfair how good he looked.
But admitting that out loud? No chance.
Instead, Lambert grunted. “You’re not dragging me out to look at earrings, Aiden. Just so we’re clear.”
Aiden laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Didn’t think I’d have to, but thanks for the clarification.”
For a moment, Lambert let himself relax, watching Aiden with a faint sense of admiration he refused to name. The bastard was pretty, there was no denying that. Too pretty, sometimes, and while Lambert tried to tell himself he only noticed because Aiden was his friend, he couldn’t quite shake the thought that he might be looking a little too long, a little too often.
But that didn’t mean anything, he told himself firmly. He was just thinking with his cock, nothing more. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.
It was mid-afternoon when a nervous-looking villager approached them, his hands wringing his hat as though it were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
"Two Witchers, eh?" the man asked, his voice trembling. "We- we’ve got a problem. Something big, scaly, breathes fire."
Lambert raised an eyebrow, glancing at Aiden, who was trying, and failing, not to smirk.
"Sounds like a dragon," Lambert said, his tone flat, though his expression betrayed his doubt. "Rare, but not impossible."
"Not a dragon," Aiden murmured, crossing his arms. "Villagers always think it’s a dragon. Could be a draconid, though. Wyvern? Forktail? Or just a regular old griffin with a bad temper."
The villager’s face paled. "Whatever it is, it’s burning our fields and scaring our livestock. Please, can you help us?"
The promise of coin was enough to seal the deal. They accepted the contract and agreed to investigate. On their way out of the tavern, Lambert and Aiden began discussing their plans for the winter, the weight of the season looming over them like a storm cloud.
“You heading back to the Cat school after this?” Lambert asked as they walked toward the woods where the creature had been sighted.
Aiden shrugged. “Probably. Not much else to do, and the Cats might as well put me to work if I’m going to winter there. What about you? Back to Kaer Morhen?”
“Yeah,” Lambert said, his voice tinged with reluctance. “Eskel and Geralt will be there. Vesemir, too. Same old routine, same old keep.”
Aiden’s lips quirked in a half-smile. “Sounds cozy compared to the Cat school. Don’t tell me you’re actually tired of all that tradition and brotherhood.”
“Shut up,” Lambert grumbled, though there was no real bite in his voice.
Their banter carried them through the village outskirts and into the charred remnants of the surrounding fields. Trees stood like skeletal sentinels, their bark scorched black, and the grass beneath their boots crumbled into ash. Smoke lingered faintly in the air, an acrid reminder of recent destruction.
Lambert scanned the area, his sharp eyes picking out patterns amidst the chaos. Scorch marks etched into the ground formed deliberate arcs, too precise for the erratic behavior of a rampaging beast. He crouched beside one, his gloved fingers brushing against the still-warm soil.
Aiden knelt beside him, frowning as he ran his hand over a patch of blackened earth. He rubbed the residue between his fingers, bringing it to his nose for a brief sniff before shaking his head. “Magic,” he said grimly, his voice cutting through the stillness. “Fire spell, someone’s been playing sorcerer.”
Lambert stood, exhaling sharply as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Great, a mage with too much time on their hands. Let me guess, trying to scare off the locals, make them abandon the land? Or maybe just bored and looking for an audience.” His voice dripped with irritation, the disdain for needless theatrics clear.
Aiden smirked faintly, rising to his full height. “Could be both. Let’s follow the trail before they torch the whole damn forest.”
The trail led them deeper into the woods, the trees growing thicker and the air cooler the further they went. It wasn’t long before the faint smell of smoke grew stronger, mingling with the scent of burnt ozone, evidence of lingering magic. They moved quietly, their senses attuned to every rustle of leaves and crack of twigs.
When they reached a clearing, they found the culprit. A mage stood at the center of the scorched earth, their robes tattered and filthy. Their hair was wild, and their eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity, a mix of desperation and anger.
“Leave, now!” the mage snarled, their voice trembling with power as their hands began to glow. Flames danced at their fingertips, casting flickering light across their face.
Lambert drew his sword with a metallic hiss, the silver blade catching the last rays of sunlight. “Here’s the thing,” he said, his voice calm but edged with steel. “You leave this village alone, or we’ll make you.”
The mage’s lips curled into a snarl, and they practically hissed, “You think you can threaten me, beast?” With a flick of their wrist, they hurled a fireball directly at Lambert.
He sidestepped with practiced ease, the flames licking harmlessly past him. “Yeah, figured we weren’t talking this out,” he muttered, raising his sword.
The fight erupted in a blur of movement. The mage flung spells with wild abandon, fireballs, arcs of lightning, and bolts of pure energy. Aiden darted to the side, his movements fluid and calculated as he circled, looking for an opening. Lambert held the mage’s attention, his blade flashing as he deflected smaller spells and dodged the larger ones.
“Over here, jackass!” Lambert barked, drawing the mage’s focus as Aiden crept closer.
But mages were unpredictable, and this one was no exception. Just as Aiden lunged from behind, the mage whirled, firing a blast of raw magic at him. The spell struck Aiden square in the chest, and he crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
“Aiden!” Lambert’s voice rang out, sharp and furious.
The mage sneered, their hands crackling with residual energy. “I told you to leave, beasts! You should’ve listened.”
Lambert’s grip on his sword tightened, his knuckles white. His fury bubbled beneath the surface, cold and sharp as he moved. “Big mistake, asshole,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
He surged forward with deadly precision, dodging the mage’s frantic attempts to cast. His blade flashed once, slicing through their defenses, and then again, silencing them with a clean strike to the neck. The mage collapsed, blood pooling beneath them, the fight over as quickly as it had begun.
Lambert sheathed his sword with a hiss and dropped to his knees beside Aiden. The omega lay stiff, his green eyes wide and unblinking. His breathing was steady but shallow, his body utterly unresponsive.
“Damn it, Aiden,” Lambert muttered, his hands hovering over him as if unsure where to start. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Aiden’s gaze was sharp despite his condition, a flicker of irritation and defiance in his eyes, though he couldn’t speak or move. It was as if he were telling Lambert off without words, his stubbornness shining through even in this state.
Lambert let out a heavy sigh, glancing back at the mage’s body and the scorched clearing around them. There was no time to linger. Carefully, he slid an arm beneath Aiden and lifted him, the omega’s body unnaturally rigid.
“You’re heavier than you look,” Lambert muttered, trying to mask his worry with his usual gruffness. “Bet you’ll blame me for this later.”
Aiden’s silence felt louder than any retort, his stillness unnerving as Lambert carried him toward their horses.
Aiden couldn’t move a muscle, his body still paralyzed from the mage’s spell. His mind, however, was sharp, racing with irritation and unease as Lambert moved around him. He could hear the older witcher muttering under his breath, the usual gruffness in his tone edged with something rawer.
When he reached his horse, Lambert eased Aiden over the saddle, making sure he was balanced before securing him with straps. The motion was practiced but far gentler than Aiden expected from someone like Lambert.
“We’ll find someone to help you,” Lambert said, his voice low but determined. “There’s gotta be… someone.” He faltered, running a hand through his hair. “Not that there’s a lot of mages just hanging around out here. Especially not after we just killed the only one in the area. Fuck.”
Aiden could feel the slight jostling as Lambert tightened the straps, securing him to the saddle with an almost obsessive care. His horse, Qamar, stood nearby, her reins tied to Lambert’s horse. Lambert paused to give her an absent pat on the neck.
“Good girl,” he muttered, though his mind was clearly elsewhere. Aiden’s irritation bubbled; he hated being this helpless, hated how exposed he felt. Lambert, of all people, seeing him like this? He’d never live it down.
Lambert swung into his saddle, clicking his tongue to get the horses moving. Aiden’s body rocked with the horse’s steady gait, the rhythm unsettling in his current state. He tried to ignore the sensation, focusing instead on Lambert’s voice as it broke the silence.
“Fucking shit,” Lambert grumbled, his words sharp with frustration. “Why’d this have to happen now? So damn close to winter. Like things weren’t bad enough already.”
Aiden wished he could respond, even if just to tell Lambert to shut up. But all he could do was lie there, silent and still, as Lambert continued to mutter.
After a long pause, Lambert spoke again, this time his tone lighter, almost hopeful. “Yennefer,” he said, nodding to himself. “Yeah, she’s supposed to be at Kaer Morhen this year. She’ll know what to do. She’s good at this magic shit, right? She’ll fix you up.”
Aiden could feel Lambert’s eyes on him, searching his face for any sign of a reaction. Lambert’s frown deepened when there was none, his brow furrowed with worry.
“You’re probably thinking I’m full of shit,” Lambert muttered, his voice quieter now. “But she will, she has to. You’re not… You’re not staying like this.”
He looked ahead, the tension in his shoulders evident even from where Aiden lay. The silence between them stretched out, broken only by the steady clop of hooves and the occasional rustle of the forest around them.
“You’ll be fine,” Lambert said suddenly, his tone firmer, as if he were trying to convince himself. “You’re too stubborn to let some backwater mage take you out like this.” He glanced at Aiden again, his expression softening slightly. “Just… hang in there, alright? We’ll get you back to Kaer Morhen, to Yennefer... She’ll fix it.”
The journey dragged on, every minute feeling like an eternity. Lambert kept talking, as if the sound of his own voice might somehow make the situation less dire. He recounted old stories, swore at the cold creeping into the night air, and occasionally cursed the mage who had caused all this.
But Aiden could sense the undercurrent of worry in Lambert’s words, the way his voice would waver when he thought Aiden couldn’t hear it.
When they finally stopped to rest, Lambert dismounted and approached Aiden’s horse. He hesitated for a moment before reaching out, brushing a strand of hair from Aiden’s face.
“Still nothing, huh?” he murmured, his frown deepening. “We’ll get there soon. Just… don’t give up on me, alright?”
Aiden, trapped in silence, could only watch as Lambert set up camp, the tension in his every movement betraying just how much this situation had shaken him. Despite the cold night air, Lambert stayed close, muttering half-hearted reassurances to the paralyzed witcher.
Aiden endured the humiliating ordeal of being completely dependent on Lambert. He lay stiffly, unable to lift even a finger as Lambert crouched beside him, muttering half-hearted reassurances as he spooned bits of stew into Aiden’s mouth. Each bite felt like a blow to his pride, but there was nothing Aiden could do but swallow and glare as much as his frozen features allowed.
“Alright, last one,” Lambert said, voice softer than usual, though the forced casualness couldn’t mask the tension. He tipped the spoon into Aiden’s mouth, wiping the corner of his lips with a rough swipe of his thumb when a drop of broth escaped. “There, dinner’s done, hope it wasn’t completely awful.”
Aiden’s eyes burned with silent indignation, but Lambert either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it. Instead, he set the bowl aside and turned his attention to Aiden’s bedroll, spreading it out with care beside the small fire he’d built.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to drop you,” Lambert muttered as he returned to Aiden’s side. His hands hovered awkwardly for a moment, as if unsure where to grab, before he finally settled on sliding his arms under Aiden’s shoulders and knees. He lifted him with a grunt, cradling him like a particularly troublesome sack of grain.
The firelight cast flickering shadows over Lambert’s face, and for a moment, Aiden caught a glimpse of the exhaustion etched into his features. Despite the usual gruffness, there was an unspoken tenderness in the way Lambert handled him, every movement careful, deliberate.
He set Aiden down on the bedroll with more gentleness than Aiden had expected, adjusting his limbs so he wouldn’t be lying at an awkward angle. Lambert tugged the edges of the blanket up, tucking it around Aiden’s shoulders before sitting back on his heels with a sigh.
“Well,” Lambert said, his tone forced and dry, “guess this is your big chance to nap without complaining about watch duty.”
He chuckled softly, but the sound lacked its usual bite. Lambert leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees as he stared into the fire. A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the crackling of flames and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.
“You’re going to be fine,” Lambert murmured, more to himself than to Aiden. He rubbed a hand over his face, the tension in his shoulders evident. “Just need to get you to Kaer Morhen. Yennefer will fix this. She’s probably dealt with worse.”
Aiden watched him, frustration simmering beneath the surface of his paralysis. He wanted to snap at Lambert, to tell him to stop treating him like glass. But all he could do was lie there, silent and still, as Lambert kept talking, his voice low and steady, a lifeline in the cold night.
“Tomorrow, we’ll keep moving,” Lambert continued, glancing over at Aiden. His lips pressed into a thin line, as if he were searching for something to say. “I’ll figure this out. You’ve been through worse, right? This is nothing. Just… hang in there.”
This was testing every ounce of patience he had. It had been days now, and he’d adjusted to the grim routine of caring for a completely paralyzed Aiden. It wasn’t easy, hell, it wasn’t even close to tolerable, but Lambert managed, if only because the alternative was letting Aiden rot in his own filth.
The first time he’d cleaned Aiden had been… an experience. He worked quickly, keeping his head down and his focus sharp, scrubbing Aiden with a damp cloth while muttering curses under his breath. He’d done his best to avoid looking at anything unnecessary, but there were moments when avoidance was impossible. It wasn’t the nudity that bothered him; it was the intimacy of it all, the sheer vulnerability of the situation. Aiden couldn’t say a word, couldn’t express his mortification, but Lambert could feel it radiating off him regardless.
“You owe me for this, you know,” Lambert had grumbled during that first awkward attempt. “Big time.”
Aiden’s unblinking stare was his only response, though Lambert could’ve sworn there was a flicker of indignation in those green eyes.
Now, as they approached yet another small town, Lambert decided to ditch the cold campsites and bring Aiden somewhere warmer. They’d been sleeping rough for too long, and even if Aiden couldn’t complain, Lambert knew he’d appreciate the change. Sneaking Aiden into an inn wasn’t easy, though. He waited until the sun had dipped low, carrying Aiden through a side entrance with a cloak thrown over his form to avoid prying eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Lambert muttered, adjusting his grip as he maneuvered through the narrow hallways. “No one’s gonna see you like this. Your pride’s intact… mostly.”
Once inside the room, Lambert set Aiden down carefully on the bed before starting preparations for a bath. Aiden’s hair was a mess, knotted and greasy from days of travel. Lambert grimaced at the sight, knowing this wasn’t something he could ignore anymore.
“You’re lucky I even care enough to do this,” Lambert muttered as he hauled in a tub and filled it with warm water.
With Aiden propped up in the tub, Lambert worked methodically, scrubbing dirt and grime from his skin while keeping a hand steady behind his neck to make sure his head didn’t slip under. It wasn’t glamorous work, but Lambert approached it with the same determination he brought to any contract.
When he reached the tangled mess of Aiden’s hair, Lambert let out a long sigh.
He began working through the knots with his fingers, wincing at every snag. Aiden’s hair was thick and wavy, the kind of texture that looked amazing when it was properly maintained, and an absolute nightmare when it wasn’t. Lambert wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to hair care, but he did his best, muttering curses under his breath every time his fingers caught on a particularly stubborn tangle.
Eventually, he gave up on anything fancy and pulled Aiden’s hair back into a rough bun. It wasn’t pretty, but it would do for now. Lambert leaned back, his hands wet and his expression grim.
“Well, you’re clean,” he said, looking down at Aiden’s still form. “Not much else I can do for you in that department.”
He lifted Aiden out of the tub with care, drying him off and dressing him in fresh clothes. The whole process was exhausting, but Lambert didn’t stop until Aiden was settled back in bed, his hair slightly less disastrous and his skin free of dirt.
The real challenge, though, was still ahead. Lambert glanced out the window toward the looming mountains in the distance. Traveling up to Kaer Morhen with Aiden in this state was going to be a nightmare.
“I hope Yennefer’s in a good mood this year,” Lambert muttered, sinking into a chair by the fire. He glanced at Aiden, his jaw tightening. “Because if she’s not, I might just lose my damn mind.”
Aiden’s gaze met his, still sharp despite the paralysis. Lambert sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
“We’ll get there,” he said, more to himself than to Aiden. “We always do.”
By morning, Lambert was out dealing with a contract. Griffins, nothing special, just a straightforward job to earn some coin. Aiden, still unable to move or speak, had been left in the room. Lambert had done his best to make him comfortable, propping him up in the bed and ensuring he was tucked in securely. Before leaving, he’d locked the door and double-checked that no one would be able to barge in. The last thing Aiden needed was a curious innkeeper or a drunk patron stumbling into the room.
The contract went smoothly, if a little tedious. The griffins were smaller than expected but still vicious enough to make it an engaging fight. Lambert dispatched them without much trouble, collected proof of the kill, and began the walk back toward the village to claim his reward.
As he approached the outskirts, the crunch of boots on the trail ahead caught his attention. A deep, gravelly voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Lambert?”
Lambert turned sharply, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. But when he saw the figure standing a few feet away, his tension melted into something between relief and surprise.
“Eskel?”
Eskel stood there, towering and broad-shouldered, his presence as solid and reassuring as ever. He was an Omega, but you wouldn’t know it at first glance. The man was built like a fortress, his thick fur-lined cloak doing little to hide the bulk of his frame. His scarred face softened as he stepped closer, a small, familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“What are you doing out here?” Eskel asked, eyeing the blood-streaked proof Lambert carried. “Griffin work, I take it?”
“Yeah,” Lambert replied, his voice edged with weariness. “Nothing too exciting, but what about you? Didn’t expect to see you this far south.”
Eskel shrugged. “Just passing through, picking up contracts here and there. Figured I’d make my way to Kaer Morhen soon.”
At the mention of Kaer Morhen, Lambert’s shoulders slumped slightly. "That’s good. Because I need your help.”
Eskel frowned, his sharp eyes narrowing with concern. “What’s going on?”
Lambert launched into a hurried explanation of the past few days, how he and Aiden had taken a contract that led to a crazed mage, how Aiden had been hit with a spell that left him completely paralyzed, and how Lambert had been caring for him since. He didn’t sugarcoat it, describing the challenges of cleaning Aiden, sneaking him into inns, and preparing for the grueling trek up the mountain.
Eskel listened in silence, his expression growing darker with every word. When Lambert finished, Eskel let out a low whistle.
“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s rough, poor bastard.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Lambert muttered. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, his frustration leaking into his voice. “I’ve been doing what I can, but it’s a pain in the ass, Eskel. I can’t get him up the mountain alone, not in this state.”
Eskel rubbed his chin thoughtfully, glancing toward the distant peaks of Kaer Morhen. “You’re lucky you ran into me. I’ll help you. We’ll get Aiden up there together.”
Lambert exhaled sharply, a wave of relief washing over him. He didn’t say thank you; it wasn’t his style, but the gratitude was evident in the way his shoulders relaxed.
“Appreciate it,” he said gruffly. “Really, couldn’t manage this shit alone.”
Eskel chuckled, clapping Lambert on the shoulder. “You’d be screwed without me, huh? Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”
As they walked back to the village together, Lambert’s mind wandered briefly to Aiden, alone in the inn. Knowing Eskel was here now made the weight of the situation feel just a little lighter. They’d figure it out.