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He doesn't have to be told twice. Quickly, he crosses to the bed and climbs in, settling right next to Eskel. "Yeah. Took him exactly an hour to start in with the questions and the nagging. Told him to go pester those rock trolls if he was so desperate for conversation." Vesemir had asked what he'd found when he'd gone back to the little shack he'd been taken from. The look in the old man's eyes said he already knew what had happened.

Lambert leans over the other witcher's shoulder to look at the chest again. "Bring back anything new?"

Eskel feels like he can tell what Lambert and Vesemir butted heads over. It was unkind of the old man to bring it up. He wraps the bearskin comfortably around Lambert's shoulders.

"Nah." He says, showing Lambert the book, which is bound in some kind of brightly colored leather, embossed with gold. "Just revisiting an old favorite. It's too big to take on the road with me, so I can only enjoy it during the winter." Indeed, the cover is larger than the length of even Eskel's large hands. "See, it's got the Zerrekanian on this side and the translation opposite. I like to read it at night, helps me sleep, I think. Gives my brain something to do."

Lambert pulls the bearskin tighter around himself, letting his head stay on Eskel's shoulder. "Makes sense...And if you really wanted, you could probably learn Zerrekanian." The cover is pretty, and it's kind of a shame it's too big to be taken along on the road.

"What do you do on the road, then? To sleep?"

"Same as you, Lamb. Meditate as long as I can stand it and then drink. But if there's a place that sells old books, I can pick up a volume or two if they're small, that helps." He shrugs. "I worked my ass off this fall. The vineyards easy of Novigrad have a huge problem...spiders the size of dogs. I was there for two months just running damage control before I found the nest. Apparently they have queens, like bees or some shit. Had to burn down like a quarter of an acre to eliminate the infestation. Most nights I was out pretty quick, between the things' venom and the potions I had to take to counteract it. So...keeping busy helps. But you know all that as well as I do. And I imagine none of that helped you sleep any, in the end."

"No, not really. Couldn't...really sleep tonight, either." He sighs and shifts so that he can flop back while managing to keep the bearskin covering himself. "Papa Vesemir had me helping to chop and stack firewood. I should be tired. 'M not."

"Thought you couldn't sleep because you were cold." Eskel says wryly, shifting the bearskin. "And don't let him catch you saying that or you'll get put on wall repair duty and your arms will be jelly for weeks." He snorts. "Come on, get comfortable. I'll sit with you and maybe you'll sleep, if I'm keeping watch." It was always easier to sleep with another witcher at one's side. Knowing that, for once, there was someone else capable of taking on the things that lurk in the dark.

They have single beds, and they're not mere boys anymore, but with some shifting about they manage that. Eskel settles back against the headboard, crossing his long legs, and pats the pillow, inviting Lambert to settle in.

"Why can't it be both?" He scowls at Eskel for a moment, then moves so he can lay his head on the pillow properly. "We're all gonna be on wall repair duty before spring." Tucked up close to the other witcher like this, Lambert can easily pick out his scent from that of the bedding. Leather and horse, sword oil, the tangy hint of magic, and a musk that was distinctly Eskel. It was nothing like huddling together with Voltehre after their first Trial, both clumsy and overwhelmed as they sought comfort in one another in the dark.

"You don't have to keep watch. Nothing can get in here, even if the place has gone to shit."

"But your instincts don't know that." Eskel points out, picking up his book and resting an arm on Lambert's shoulder. It really was like it had been when they were younger, wasn't it? Witcher code and culture probably dictated that each of them fight their own battles as they lay awake at night but Vesemir never really did anything about the fact that the young witchers would often sneak into each other's quarters, looking for warmth and just the presence of another person. Eskel and Geralt had fallen asleep in each other's arms more than once, especially right after their changing, when the pain of their ravaged bodies, their overwhelmed new senses was simply too much. When they got news that someone wasn't coming home, as their numbers got smaller and smaller so too did Eskel's bed because--on occasion-- he and Geralt found themselves curled around Lambert, the young witcher secured between them. Each of them probably wondering if he was the broken witcher for being unable to bear up under the feelings of crushing grief they weren't supposed to have.

There had been other, more intimate times. Of course there were. Brought here as children, fellow apprentices were all the witchers had ever known. At a certain point-- especially before the Changes dulled (though clearly failed to eliminate) pesky human wants and needs-- there was a different kind of comfort to be had in the beds of one's brother witchers. Usually these furtive liasons dwindled over time and there was an unspoken understanding that nothing more lasting than an unshakable fraternal bond develop, especially when the witchers were Changed, became men and set off on the Path. Eskel had not held Lambert in such a way for many decades, as Eskel had tried not to indulge Lambert's more youthful tendencies: his need for physical comfort and his temper tantrums among them and because Eskel found he had vastly preferred the company of women. At least before he became so violently disfigured and turned every ounce of his devotion to the Path and away from outside distraction.

Eskel rubbed Lambert's shoulder as he read, a reflective, comforting gesture.

The arm resting on his shoulder prompts Lambert to scoot the scant few inches closer that he can manage, throwing his own arm over Eskel's waist and lifting his head a tiny bit so that he isn't smothering himself in the other's hip.

He's rather glad Geralt isn't here yet. As much as he loves his brothers, and as much comfort as he'd found sandwiched between them when they were all younger, there's no way they'd all fit in a bed now. He and Eskel barely fit. Lambert had no issue getting so close, however. He'd fought tooth and nail to set himself apart from all the other witchers, clinging to every small comfort he could, seeking out what he needed wherever he could get it.

During those years when they were changing, growing--both naturally and unnaturally--Lambert had discovered those same more intimate comforts as every other boy. He had no problem staying detached emotionally, knowing any of them could die suddenly and that it was safer to snuff any romantic notions out before they could begin. But he'd discovered there was a deeper level of comfort to be found, something primal that could be soothed, if he gave up control to someone he trusted. He didn't have to stay on guard, or think, or keep his emotions reined in. And once he'd set out on the Path, he hadn't cared to get rid of that particular habit. It was difficult to find someone he trusted as much as his brothers, though. Whores could be paid for all manner of services, but there were things he was unwilling to ask for. Even from the few male whores he'd encountered. Then he'd met Aiden and found that the Cat witcher could absolutely be trusted with his life.

He'd found his own ways to deal with his shit, and he didn't care if it wasn't the proper way for a witcher to be.

Laying here now, it was tempting to want to fall back on those ways. He'd been alone with his thoughts too long. But the older witcher had discouraged these childish habits long ago. He was probably lucky to be invited in at all.

Eskel read for a while, hoping to soothe Lambert just with his presence. The comfort went both ways, he would never pretend otherwise. Unlike the notorious (if sometimes accidental or bewitched) Lothario that was their brother Geralt, Eskel eschewed both relationships and the night flowers that bloomed enticingly in the brothels of Novigrad, Oxenfurt and Vizima. Unlike Lambert, he preferred to walk the Path alone. He didn't think of himself as touch-starved or lonely most of the time but now that Lambert was there he found the sense of presence comforting. And vaguely nostalgic. After a while, however, his nose and intuition picked up on some kind of discomfort or melancholy in the younger witcher.

"Hey...you're not still worried about my shoulder, are you? It's nothing, I'm fine now."

"Yeah, I know, you greeted me with a punch. Memory starting to go~?" he teases. The young wolf knows he can't lie about being fine, though. Just as he can sense the calm that had washed over Eskel, he knows Eskel can sense that he isn't quite comfortable. He could talk about it, admit to what was going on, or he could lay here and ignore it.

"Just lay down already. Unless you still wanna read."

"Keeping you up?" The wolf teases, but he leans over to blow out the stub of candle next to the bed and lays his book aside. There's some groaning and shuffling as the older witcher gets settled.

"You're gonna have to pick: big or little spoon?" Eskel snorts. "We won't fit otherwise." There's only one double bed in Kaer Morhen, a mystery relic perhaps from a mage or other, less ascetic person. And only guests sleep there. "You wanna be the little spoon? Like back in the day?" He asks. He's half teasing, half in earnest, starting to realize that may be what Lambert needs.

Lambert shifts and rolls so that his back is to Eskel, trying to make himself as small as he can. It's difficult, but he makes it work.

"It'd be weird if you were the little spoon anyways." The difference was marginal, but Eskel had always seemed bigger. And, when given the choice, he wasn't about to pass up a chance to be held. If he's a little too eager when he reaches to tug Eskel's arm around himself, can he really be blamed? "Have you ever been the little spoon?"

"Maybe when I was way younger. You know, before we Change and get all bulky." He snorts. "We didn't all get to be weirdly lanky like Geralt. My shoulders are too big." He shrugs. "Hmm...Once I met a guy from Skellige, the first time I ever went there. He was beefy enough, built like a polar bear. He managed it." They hadn't exactly slept in that position, which turned out to be a doubly novel experience for Eskel. "But I don't spend a lot of time with men like that, so." He shrugs against Lambert's back. "You ever been the big spoon?"

Lambert is nice and warm and smells familiar. To say that it was a reminder of the joys of their youth would be a lie: the childhood of a witcher is hard and there's all kinds of reasons why so many of them don't make it. But it was a reminder that none of them was truly alone in the world. Not yet. The bonds of their order were stronger than the world that would have broken any one of them if given the chance.

Edited 2020-08-16 21:27 (UTC)

Nodding, Lambert thinks over this new information. "'S a shame you don't. Or that there isn't a woman big enough." He never would've thought Eskel would be the type to look for that outside the keep, but going out on the Path for the first couple of years was hard.

"If a woman lets me stay, after, and wants to cuddle up." Which was a bit of a rare thing. "Aiden and I switch, when we're not sleeping face to face, or just...on our backs. But I like being the little one."

"Nah, I like being the big spoon." He says, giving Lambert a reassuring squeeze. Butting his head against the back of Lambert's, nose buried in the back of his neck.

"You gonna ask Vesemir if you can bring Aiden around of these winters? I know Cats got reputations but I trust you that he's alright."

The soft breath tickling the hairs on the back of his neck pulls the tiniest gasp out of Lambert. He shifts a little to get more comfortable.

"Do I have to ask? Was kinda planning to just show up with him next year. It'll save me an argument with the old man this year, 'cause you know he's gonna say no." And then, because he likes making his brother laugh, he adopts the voice he uses to mock their mentor. "Witchers from the Cat School cannot be trusted! They are all...scoundrels and ne'er-do-wells!"

"Okay but you gotta make sure I'm here so I can see the look on his face." Eskel laughs. "I mean if Geralt can bring his sorceresses up here, you should be able to bring Aiden. I mean, arguably, the Cat has more right."

Lambert relaxes considerably at the laugh. "He's a witcher! He does. Why don't you just meet us at the trail head and we'll go up together?" That way, Eskel can get to know him, too. Two Wolves vouching for him should surely convince Vesemir to allow the Cat to stay.

"That's a whole year away, though."

"It's a deal. In a year." Eskel says.

The wind howls outside the keep and the older witcher re-arranges the blankets so they're nice and warm. Their bodies curled together neck to knees.

"I don't think you've crawled into bed with me for decades." Eskel says, and tries not to sound too grave or worried. "I think the last time it was because it was the last time the old man put his hands on you." Lambert had been a grown man (if barely) but he had run his mouth, pushed too hard, did something so reckless it had put himself and maybe even another witcher at risk and Vesemir had taken a belt to him. Which, now that Lambert had dragged his history out in front of his brother, seemed extraordinarily cruel in Eskel's eyes. But it was only fair, he and Geralt had both gotten-- and distributed-- their fair share with a strap. It was just the way children were disciplined in Kaer Morhen. Which had been far more Vesemir's intent-- rather than causing an inordinate amount of pain or damage it had been to embarrass Lambert, to imply he was being childish. He had crawled into Eskel's bed and the older witcher had kissed tears from his cheeks they both pretended not to notice.

A year seems so far away now. The promise of it fills him with excitement, though, because he'll be bringing Aiden home and there's something that just feels right about it.

Then he's tensing up at the memory of the last time. He hasn't forgotten the sting of the leather, can feel it now as if it had just happened. He'd deserved it. It wasn't harsh enough to leave a bruise, and he'd taken it like any other boy who'd lived in the keep at one time or another had done. Lambert probably felt the strap across his backside more often than normal. He'd waited until he was safely tucked against Eskel to cry. He hadn't expected to be kissed and comforted that night. It was around the time his group was being actively discouraged from all their childhood ways, being prepared to be sent out on the Path.

"Didn't think you'd let me, to be honest. You used to pretend you were asleep most of the time, or you'd tell me to fuck off." He stays quiet for a moment after that, resisting the urge to fidget, then he speaks barely above a whisper. "You're still my favorite."

"I had to. It was time for you to move on." Eskel says, quietly, the arm around Lambert's waist squeezing gently. That time especially, when the message from Vesemir had been so clear: Lambert was too old to for the unruly actions of a youth to be excused. Vesemir never forbade the wolves from sleeping together but as with all things there was a tacit understanding: Lambert's time as a young, apprenticing witcher was over, he would have to learn to be on his own in all things and that included his night-time pleadings with his fellow witcher for comfort. But Eskel had indulged him then, quietly and kindly and with the understanding that it was to be the last time.

"Yeah?" Eskel laughs against his ear, endeavouring to lighten the mood. "Don't tell Geralt." He teases. "You'll bruise his ego." He rests his chin on Lambert's shoulder. "Now that you're here, I kinda missed this."

Lambert glances at Eskel from the corner of his eye, able to see well enough in the dark this close. "I won't tell him if you won't~"

Different people offered different comforts. At least, that's what he'd felt. Even between Eskel and Geralt, there were differences in the way each one held him, touched him, what they expressed. Deep down, he knew that was why he hadn't wanted to give this up. And knowing the last time was truly the last had only made him cry more, really. He hadn't been made to explain, because Eskel knew what he would and wouldn't talk about, and that's why Eskel had always been his favorite.

"I did, too. Doubt the old man would say anything now, if...if you wanna keep doing this. He knows we know by now, so what's it really hurt?"

"He probably wouldn't bother. He's got other things on his mind in his old age. Some frowning at the breakfast table, probably. I might get a lecture about encouraging you. But fuck 'im. The keep's colder than a witch's tit, better to sleep with company. And we're grown men now, on the Path and living our own lives, I'm not indulging you or holding you back anymore." He huffs against Lambert's hair. "I don't mind having you sleep here, at any rate."

"Exactly. And you know what'll happen if he lectures me, I'll just mouth off." Gently, he tugs Eskel's hand up to his mouth, pressing soft kisses to his knuckles. "Maybe 's what Papa Vesemir needs. Think we could convince him to pay Mignole a visit? They can talk about whatever old people talk about or whatever."

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