Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The more-frustrated-than-usual yell from Lambert was the first clue that something had gone wrong.

All it had taken was one afternoon of being bored. Trevor was used to not much happening, but he was also used to those calmer times being travel, where he could watch the landscape change, look at different animals and plants, or- or anything about his surroundings changed. Being stuck in Kaer Morhen for the winter, the scenery remained steadfastly the same.

Most of the time, it wasn't a problem. Vesemir kept a schedule of hunting practice, sparring, and other sorts of training; Most of Trevor's mornings were filled that way. There were other chores to do around the keep as well, from cooking, to caring for equipment, caring for the animals, and even patching up parts of the keep itself which had fallen into disrepair. Sometimes, the other witchers would even take Trevor aside for learning different skills. Eskel did so quite often, for a variety of subjects; he was fussier than a tutor, sometimes. Lambert tended to teach Trevor as well--mostly alchemy, but sometimes the best ways to pull pranks. And Trevor learned various things from other witchers, whether it be history, a current political change, sciences in botany, or monster biology, Trevor never had a lack of new things to absorb.

That did not mean, of course, that sometimes activities aligned just so, leaving a time where Trevor had nothing to do.

No chores, no learning, and everyone else was busy with activities where Trevor didn't want to be a bother. Instead, he spent that time wandering around the keep. When he started to feel his mind whirl and his fingers itch, he knew he had to find something to occupy him. He'd do something not recommended, otherwise. Like try to head out of the keep and hunt by himself. (He'd only tried that once, and Geralt had practically sat on him for an entire evening out of worry and frustration.)

So, in an effort to keep his mind from spinning to terrible, terrible ideas, Trevor headed further into the keep. Past where he usually spent time, there were old storage rooms. Trevor figured that, much like the old Belmont home, there must have been some pretty fun things hidden away. Maybe there wasn't a separate hidden keep inside the witchers' keep, not like the Belmont's had under their home, but the witchers had probably still gathered a lot of awesome things over the centuries of traveling the continent.

Finding the area he wanted to be in wasn't too difficult. Everything got more and more dusty. Trevor sneezed a couple times before he grabbed the extra fabric tied to his belt and fashioned it around his head and face, falling just over his shoulders, like a mini-cape instead.

Thus protected from most of the dust in the air, Trevor wandered into the first of the rooms which caught his attention. Then the next. And the next. It wasn't that Trevor wasn't finding anything interesting--since there locked boxes which sounded like they were full of paper, letters maybe, and some older forgotten weapons and armor--but nothing really stuck out as different or new. There was a whole library upstairs, and plenty of weapons and armor for Trevor to try out as well. The witchers were much like Belmonts in that way, always happy to get him working on new fighting skills. Since there was nothing in the items Trevor had found which would keep his attention by itself, Trevor just started searching around the rooms themselves. He paid attention to the noises as he walked over the stone floors, he eyed the walls and alcoves for anything weird, and he hung his lantern on various empty hooks.

The thing about Kaer Morhen being so ancient, a stronghold for supernaturally gifted monster hunters, was that the whole thing was soaked in magic. It had been difficult for Trevor to notice, at first. He'd thought everything he smelled was just from the season or the witchers themselves--the bite of cold winter air, smokey warmth of a fire made from pine wood, sharp and bitter herbs, and the deep scents of iron and steel. it made sense for witchers to smell like such things.

However, when they started getting used to Trevor being around each winter, and practiced their magical witcher signs more, Trevor noticed a difference. Their signs had bright, distinct scents from what usually hung around them and the keep. That too, had made sense; magic being used had a stronger scent than that of the low-level let off by people who had magic, but hadn't used it recently. The thing was, the scents still should have been similar. But Trevor paid close attention in each practice. Each witcher had their own magical scent. Even with similarities, none of them carried the scents which exactly matched the one floating around in every single room of the keep. That was what had clued Trevor in to Kaer Morhen's own magic.

Not that the keep was suddenly going to start casting spells, but enough witchers had lived--and died--in the walls, for such a long time, that the castle had absorbed the ambient magic witchers used and were. It became a map, almost, for what each part of the keep meant, or had been used for.

The hot springs and kitchens were both soaked in warm magic; Not just from their purposes, but from the camaraderie shared in those places for so many centuries. The labs, which Trevor was still restricted from entering, still managed to waft a scent of death, pain, and poison. Needless to say, Trevor was glad enough to obey that rule and keep out of a place, no matter how bored he got.

Where Trevor currently wandered, however, had only the barest hints of magic wafting about. Mostly it was dusty. Despite the lack of visitors in probably decades, there were still a few objects and spots which radiated faint scents of interest.

One spear--broken, unfortunately--had a faint scent of wild roses. A little box with broken glass shards had smelled of earthy spices Trevor wasn't familiar with. Eventually, however, Trevor noticed something far more intriguing.

Just off to the side inside of a double-length room, the fifth one he'd explored, there was a stronger hint of the keep's underlying magic. Something a little more.... robust. A banked bonfire, or dried herbs, something which needed only a poke to become larger, more present than what it was while languishing in storage.

Of course Trevor was curious. He wasn't stupid though.

When he reached the section of the wall which the magic seemed to emanate from, Trevor looked around. Nothing seemed strange or out of place. He started touching around carefully, noting that the closest items to him were some sort of dried monster hides bound up in small piles, and that the walls a little further down had old candle wax drips and puddles which were never cleaned up. No notes or warnings, so Trevor continued.

For a while, Trevor found nothing but simple rock, mostly smooth under the layer of dust and grime. At one point, overwhelming even through his makeshift cover, the dust made Trevor sneeze again. Grumbling, he set his hands back in place. And he felt something.

It was small, just a little carving, and partly covered by a wax dripping. Bringing his lantern up, Trevor saw it looked like a small version of the wolf head often used for the witchers' medallions.

Taking it as a clue, Trevor grabbed one of the simple knives he carried around and started peeling more of the wax off the wall. He saw as the wolf carving revealed itself, and the way wax had dripped oddly into what appeared to be a crack in the masonry. Trevor cleared out more of the wax, stifling two more sneezes as the old, dusty flakes fell away. Then he stuck his knife in the little space he'd cleared, wiggling it back and forth to find good leverage. Eventually, he felt something coming loose. He put his lantern handle between his teeth, using both hands to carefully scrape and tug against the loose stone.

While it did not detach from the wall entirely, Trevor could feel that something changed as it twisted part way out, like a door. He used his knife to feel around in the crevice first, noting there was something else loose inside. As he pulled the stone as far as it could go, the loose bit raised up, like a platform. With that piece no longer being pushed on by the weight of the stone, something in the wall creaked, rumbled, and released, like a held breath.

Trevor's heart sped up, and he could feel a stupid grin on his face. There was a secret room in Kaer Morhen.

"Fucking amazing," he cheered quietly to himself, lantern back on his belt. He stepped over to where the wall had shifted, then pressed and pushed against the slight opening, widening it through sheer effort.

It took time--both due to lack of use and the weight of so much stone--but eventually, Trevor had slid that part of the wall aside wide enough to peer into his secret room. It wasn't very large, more of a square alcove, not more than five large paces on each side. While not as big as Trevor had hoped to explore, it did contain something intriguing inside. Right in the middle of the little hidden alcove sat a statue.

Trevor raised his lantern, getting a better look as the light hit it. Stone as well, though Trevor couldn't tell what kind--it had more of a blue-ish hue to it than the walls and floor did. The object appeared to be a wolf, sitting on a platform chiseled of the same stone and howling to the sky. The fur was done very well, and everything was proportioned properly; Trevor would say it was the most realistic wolf sculpture he'd ever seen. ...It was also the only one, but that didn't make it less impressive.

Still, why was it hidden away? not only had it been placed in storage, but hidden in a room inside the other forgotten rooms. Did the witchers think it was too on the nose or something?

Trevor took a step into the room, wanting a closer look, maybe to find if there was a message, or other clues as to why it was left to rot. He heard a quiet ssshhh as his foot moved across the threshold. Looking down, there was lots of piled up dust- no. Wait.

Leaning down just a bit, Trevor felt himself pale. There sure was something under his foot, but it wasn't dust, it was salt. And it hadn't just been piled up randomly over time, it had been placed purposefully in a thick line across the entrance to the alcove. Had been. Because Trevor had just broken that line.

"Oh, fuck."

He froze in place, eyes darting around for any danger, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as a faint breeze seemed to push past him. Everything smelled so, so strongly of wolf. Trevor held his breath, both to avoid sneezing and to listen for anything which might activate.

One beat.

Two.

Three.

The scent did not fade--which was pretty stinky, like the worst wet dog--but nothing else happened.

Which meant... maybe Trevor got lucky? Yeah. yeah, he'd go find some more salt to spread on the threshold--just in case--then close the alcove and pretend the whole thing never happened. Good plan.

but as he picked his way quickly and carefully back towards the start of the rooms, he heard yelling start up in the levels above him, echoing down, and Trevor's dread grew with the volume.

If he'd unleashed some kind of monster, Geralt was going to keep him under watch forever.

0-o-0

The afternoon had been pretty quiet, so far. That should have been Lambert's first clue that something was going to go horribly, terribly wrong.

While he normally scheduled times for practicing and improving his alchemical skills, making better versions of his potions and, most importantly, bombs, he didn't always get to spend that entire time working. he would get interrupted by one of his brothers or other witchers, either because they were bored (not his problem) or they wanted help with some chore they were assigned to (which was definitely not his problem). Other times, he worked alongside whoever had come in, brewing their potions in relative quiet. Those were relaxing silences.

As he ground up some of the preserved drowner brains, Lambert's hackles started to go up, an energy of some sort in the air distracting him. He wasn't sure what was happening, but someone, somewhere in the keep, was causing problems.

He'd gained a good sense for that kind of bullshit--having been the cause of it himself before. (Several times.)

If it had simply passed by, or only managed to affect one of the others--preferably Geralt because that was never not hilarious--Lambert would have been satisfied. A good prank pulled, magic or not, with something to laugh about. Unfortunately, he did not get his wish.

Lambert felt the shiver of magic break, the tension released like a wall of water from an overflowing dam. his medallion rattled against his chest. He instinctively bared his teeth, eyes darting around as if to find the culprit. He wasn't going to get any work done like that.

So, with a sigh, Lambert put away some of his tools and ingredients, leaving the rest of the clean up for later, when weird shit wasn't happening.

Stepping out into the nearest corridor, Lambert headed towards the main hall, hoping there would be more information on the way. He came across a few others on his way, all looking just as wary and confused, and Merek followed him, nodding once in acknowledgement.

"Know what's going on?" he asked.

Lambert shook his head. "But I'll bet it's either pretty boy or his kid."

"No bet," Merek laughed. "If it's not you, it's usually one of them."

Lambert reached out to punch him, but only got a laugh in response. One which started to turn into pained grunts. Lambert stopped, reaching out to hold Merek in place too. He had a wince on his face, but there was no smell of blood, and Lambert couldn't see anything which might-

Wait. Yes he did. Merek's ears were growing out, not just longer, peeking out from his currently loose hair, but wider, more pointed.

"What the fuck," Lambert said. Then, feeling pain himself, he backed up.

Reaching up, he felt his own ears, feeling as they twisted, grew, and even felt as if they were moving up higher on his head. There was the accompanying pain Lambert expected from such mutations, though it wasn't enough to stop him. He snarled, turned on his heel and moved even faster, trying to reach the great hall. There had to be an explanation, and it had better be a damned good one--not to mention reversible. The magic wasn't done with him yet, though. Aside from his ears, a growing pain started from his spine, pushing and pushing against his skin, lengthening in a way which made Lambert falter in his steps--though only once--before he had to tug his pants a bit further down his ass. And... yeah, there it was: a tail.

Released from his clothing, Lambert felt the growing muscles relax, and hair fur? sprouted quickly from it, giving Lambert a bushy new appendage which went right down to his knees, if he was feeling it right. He thought he knew what the changes were, especially as he felt his bigger, more triangular ears settle on either side of the top of his head, twisting to catch each sound he heard.

"Who's funny fucking idea was it-" Lambert yelled, even as he all but sprinted towards the hall, passing more transformed witchers on the way, "-to give us goddamned wolf appendages?"

There were already a number of witchers in the hall, with more gathering, each one of them rubbing at their heads or asses, and every single one of them sporting wolf ears and tails. Most new appendages had grown in with fur a similar color to their hair, sporting a large number of blacks and black-grays, with a few having gotten a lighter brownish-gray. Because of the oddity of seeing people he knew, but looking just different enough to raise his witcher instincts of caution might-be-monster be careful, Lambert felt himself getting more and more agitated. He wanted to bite them-

Wait. What?

Lambert paused, even as he felt his tail stiff behind him, his ears curving back and down. He hadn't felt a need to bite his family other witchers in years. Since he was a snot kid, probably. Yet, there he stood, having been an adult for decades, having learned to control himself as a witcher for decades, and he felt a desperate, horrible need to bite and snap at all these other wolves witchers until he wasn't so scared confused.

Hearing Merek catch up behind him didn't help his mood. Lambert stomped away, glaring at everyone in the room and everyone arriving. no one appeared guilty, and everyone dealing with the changes looked just as confused and annoyed as Lambert felt. Except for a couple others, who were taking it in stride and with curiosity, like Eskel.

"Lambert," his brother said.

"Not you, huh?" Lambert asked. Eskel shook his head. "Then who the fuck- Hey-!"

When Eskel moved in closer, Lambert automatically bared his teeth, leaning back, ears nearly flat. He felt his tail curl up between his legs--he hated these new tells. Eskel, it seemed, took notice as well. Instead of backing off, though, Eskel moved closer. He moved forward one step. Lambert took one back. And again. Eskel's nostrils flared, making Lambert narrow his eyes into even more of a suspicious glare. Unfortunately, despite Eskel's extra bulk, he was not any slower than any other witcher in good shape. His sudden pounce on Lambert landed, pushing an incredibly embarrassing yelp out of Lambert's mouth.

They wrestled on the ground a bit, Lambert doing what he'd been holding back from, biting. not that he got anything more than mouthfuls of leather, but it was the effort that mattered. Eventually, Eskel had Lambert mostly pinned down, practically sitting on his back, and moved on to... sniffing him?

"What the hell are you doing?" Lambert growled.

"You're stressed," Eskel said, far too calm.

"No shit! I wonder if it's the two ton asshole brother who decided to use me as a floor cushion? Or if-" Lambert froze, mouth open. Something wet touched his ear, again. "What- what the fuck is that? Eskel. Eskel tell me you are not licking my goddamned wolf ears."

Eskel just hummed. He did, in fact, stop licking Lambert--which thank all the gods, that was too weird--but he also settled all his weight in on Lambert. With that extra bulk, Lambert had his breath pushed from him. He tried his best not to melt into the sensation of having a trusted brother protecting him. It wasn't nice, Lambert's face was pressed to the stone floor, and Lambert hadn't needed any help with his emotions anyway, thanks.

Still, he ended up zoning out for a good few minutes--barely listening in to the other conversations around him--before he started to get uncomfortable. Shifting, Eskel finally let him up. Surprisingly, several other witchers were gathered around, some sitting beside Eskel, leaning on each other, and some still standing, but sniffing at each other, looking bemused by the whole ordeal.

"Alright boys." Lambert whipped his head around, watching as Vesemir strode into the room, looking fully exasperated. it was easier to tell than usual, given the way his gray ears were turned slightly out to the sides, and his tail twitched at the tip. "Who here activated the Statue of Vuk?"

Lambert looked around, but no one seemed to know what he was talking about. Well, no one until Trevor stepped forward.

Beside him, also unaffected by the magic, walked Coën. Lambert felt his attention focus in then. Neither of them was technically a wolf witcher--with Trevor not being a witcher at all, despite his adoption into the family. So was this magic only affecting Wolf Witchers, specifically ones who had gone through the trials designed for the Wolf School? Meanwhile, Trevor looked the exact kind of guilty Lambert had initially been looking for. This was all but confirmed when Trevor spoke to Vesemir.

"I'm sorry," Trevor said, fingers fidgeting with a dusty red cloth, though he still kept his back and shoulder straight. "I... I didn't know. I was only exploring, and I didn't do it on purpose but- uh, I found a statue of a wolf. And then... this happened. So." he shrugged, though he'd started slumping as he looked over all the witchers in the room. "Wasn't what I meant. To do. Sorry."

Vesemir sighed, though his tail wasn't quite so rigid anymore. "There's a reason it was sealed."

"I. I can see that." Trevor slumped more until Coën put a hand on his shoulder, offering him a lopsided smile.

"It's done now," Coën said. "What do you know of this... spell, Master Vesemir? Is there a way to seal the magic back where it was found?"

"Perhaps." Vesemir's ears flicked in annoyance when whispering started up all around the room. He barked--actually barked--a loud, "Quiet!" His tail tucked up a little, even as everyone stopped their mutterings, apparently embarrassed at his more wolfish behavior. Clearing his throat, Vesemir continued, "We have some information on it still, and can look into possibilities after dinner. I know none of you boys will focus without a proper meal."

A few witchers perked up at the mention of food, tails starting to sway behind them even as they tried to keep neutral expressions.

"In the meanwhile, as far as I am aware, the spell is not malicious. Nor will it change anyone into someone they are not. Just... try to keep your instincts in check." Vesemir's pointed looks around the room had Lambert's ears flopping down, more embarrassed than he should be. Especially when Eskel had to pull himself back from sniffing at Lambert again.

Trevor, the poor kid, looked confused for all of two seconds before Geralt was pushing his way through the group, grabbing him in a hug and sniffing at his neck.

"Wh- I'm fine, I'm fine! Nothing even happened to me, I only got a little dusty-" Trevor sputtered as Geralt started wiping said dust from Trevor's face and arms.

Lambert snorted, managing to feel amused even when his fucking tail started wagging behind him. It was going to be... interesting, dealing with whatever was going on, until they managed to remove whatever spell--curse more likely--was affecting all the Wolf Witchers. Until then, Lambert got the feeling they were all going to be a lot more touchy-feely than usual. Which, might not...

Lambert sighed, pushing at Eskel as he finally got to his feet, having to step over a few others like Gawain on his way out of the cuddle pile. The rest of the day--or maybe next few given their luck--were going to be strange, but not bad.

"Merek, if you so much as touch me, I will bite you."

"Don't lie to me Lambchop. Everyone can see your tail!"

"Can you see my fist too?"

As Lambert got into another tussle, he revised his opinion: Mostly not bad.

Chapter Text

"C'mon now, you've been learning to mend your clothes, haven't you?"

"This is different," Trevor protested, even though it only got him an amused huff.

"You wanted to learn it." Gawain grinned as he tapped at Trevor's shuttle, bringing his attention back. "Were you that bored?"

"It's not boring, just..."

"Repetitive?"

Trevor looked up at the witcher again, watching under the thick beard for any sort of negative reaction. Then didn't bother, because the man's (hopefully temporary) wolf ears were perked, tail wagging slowly behind him. "Yeah, I guess."

"And that is why so few witchers weave. And why I have the best blankets."

Lambert grunted from the bed he'd taken to lounge on, bundled up in one of said blankets, watching Trevor's sad attempts, but so calm he could almost be asleep. Gawain gestured at him as evidence of his claims. Even another crack of thunder from the storm outside didn't bother him, though part of that might've been the way some of the blanket laid carefully over and around his head, like a hood. Trevor hid his grin at the two little lumps which indicated Lambert's wolf ears.

"Don't get cocky," Lambert grumbled.

"Yeah yeah, I know, you're here for the pup."

Lambert growled, but notably didn't protest it. Trevor could not hide his pleased grin at that, so he turned his head back to the lap loom, hoping to hide it that way.

0-o-0

Trevor was terrible at hiding his expressions. Almost as bad as Geralt was at lying to someone's face. Lambert made a mental note to help the pup Trevor out with that skill, since he already had plenty of history to obscure, and now present knowledge to obfuscate. This time, at least, he was only trying to hide a smile, which was fine.

With all the witchers still stuck with wolf ears and tails, and the storm outside keeping everyone indoors, cuddle piles, and fights which lead to cuddle piles, started popping up all over the keep. Lambert was willing to be a source of amusement for Trevor if it kept him out of the clutches of some of his more touchy-feely brothers. Besides, watching Trevor learn a new skill was pretty amusing. Brows furrowing in concentration, lips turned down, he looked a bit like Geralt. Sometimes, little grunts of acknowledgement or hums of thought would leave him, making him sound like Geralt too. Probably better habits than cursing while learning something, as Lambert himself tended to do, but still funny. Which Lambert kept firmly to himself. And Gawain, thankfully, didn't point it out either. Trevor tended to be self conscious around the witchers, and his most recent accident of releasing the wolf magic--apparently hidden right in a storage room, what the fuck--had made him more apologetic than usual.

For now, at least, with Gawain acting as a patient teacher, Trevor had something to do with his hands which kept his mind off the research going into reversing the curse he'd unleashed. And Lambert was grateful for that.

Little by little, as the candle in the room melted, as the firelogs burned low, Lambert allowed himself to relax.

Eventually, he closed his eyes, just listening to the small murmured conversation and soft bumps of the shuttle through the weave, the wind of the storm growing distant.

He never noticed when he fell asleep.

0-o-0

"This is unusual." Eskel stood in the doorway he'd tracked the pup to, smiling a bit at the sight of Lambert asleep. His younger brother didn't like letting his guard down, even in places which were--generally, if not always--safe. Something about the situation must have allowed him to rest, even when others were in the room; The barely audible snores assured Eskel of his continued sleep. "May I come in?"

The pup nodded, since it was his room. Eskel walked with careful steps, keeping light and quiet so as not to disturb his resting brother too much. Luckily, it seemed his voice counted as safe enough not to wake him.

"It's getting late. Getting tired, pup?"

Trevor flushed, looking down at the lap loom, fiddling with the weft. "Not yet."

Eskel looked at Gawain, whose ears tilted slightly, shoulders pulling up in a barely there shrug. Letting that stand, for the moment, Eskel crouched down next to Trevor. The wolf instincts had him sniffing much more obviously at Trevor's head than he normally would. Luckily, Trevor only let out a half-sigh-half-laugh and reached up with one arm, patting the side of Eskel's face; the side with the scars. He froze, for a second, before Trevor pulled his hand back, seemingly unaware of his own actions. The pup really was sweet, and kind. Most witchers had learned not to use those words, unless sarcastically, and especially in reference to one of their own. But Eskel knew it to be true--Trevor's actions towards him could not be faked, not without giving something away. Truly, the pup was not disgusted or frightened around Eskel, which meant more than Eskel could put into words anyway.

Instead, Eskel leaned in a little harder, wrapping an arm around the pup for a brief hug. Trevor made a muffled noise of protest, but didn't push him away. Eskel rubbed his cheek--the smoother one--against Trevor's hair a few times before standing back up, taking the couple steps over to the side of the bed.

Lambert barely stirred, even when Eskel toed off his boots to climb into the bed with him. His nose turned up, breathing in a few times, then he settled back down with a sleepy grumble, nose apparently deciding Eskel had a safe scent. Heart warming, Eskel snuggled in close, a deep rumbling in his chest as he wrapped a second blanket over the both of them.

For several more minutes, they lay like that, Lambert sleeping, Eskel resting but awake, Trevor weaving, and Gawain giving quiet instruction. Eventually, the hearth held only hot coals and ashes, the room darker for its lack. Colder too, given Trevor's little shivers.

"Bedtime, I think," Gawain says, soft. Lambert still twitches at the voice.

Trevor opens his mouth, brow furrowed, but a shiver, stronger this time, appears to change his mind.

"Keep the loom for the night," Gawain says. When he eyes the bed, ears swiveling towards them, Eskel feels his lips pull back from his teeth. He doesn't snarl, he trusts Gawain, but Lambert would wake, and he was especially particular about who he let sleep near him, and when. Gawan's ears lowered, but he nodded anyway. "I'll pick it up tomorrow."

"There was another pile one hall down," Eskel rumbles, his voice unable to truly whisper. "Pretty sure Merek was in it, with a few others."

Gawain nods at him, accepting his pseudo-apology. Then, with a fond ruffle to Trevor's hair, which got him a few annoyed swats, Gawain left the room. Trevor set the loom away, and after sweeping some of the ashes out of the way, placed a few more logs and little sticks on the banked fire, carefully breathing the flames back to life. The new flames made up for Trevor blowing out the candle, and Eskel easily tracked as Trevor set aside his two consistently hidden knives and boots before hesitating.

"Trevor," Eskel rumbled. "Pup."

Still, Trevor only looked over until Eskel held out a hand, carefully extracted from the blankets, and twitched his fingers in a 'come here' gesture. Socked feet tiptoed over, and another shiver wracked the younger man.

"I..."

"Under the covers."

"...don't want to intrude." Trevor's eyes flicked to where Lambert was still mostly wrapped up, breathing even.

"He'll want you close. Trust me pup."

Despite it being fairly normal now, coming from Eskel, Trevor still occasionally flushed at the title, perhaps from the sign of being part of the family, or perhaps from the endearment Eskel allowed into his tone every time, perhaps both. It worked though, as it usually did. Trevor climbed onto the bed, using an angle which would avoid putting weight on Lambert. Eskel himself scooted over to make room, smiling at the annoyed groan from his brother.

With Trevor frozen at the sound, Eskel grabbed under his arm and maneuvered him into place, Trevor letting out a quiet noise of surprise and protest. Though he was growing still, he was still shorter and smaller than most of the witchers, meaning he still fit perfectly fine between the two of them, even with his squirming. Eskel started pulling the blanket back up over all of them, only to pause when little slits of yellow, dim in the wavering light, peered at him.

With a grunt, Lambert started peeling back the blanket around him. Trevor shook his head.

"Lambert, it's fine-"

"Lamb-" Eskel started, but there was no need to continue.

Lambert scowled, somewhat sleepy but mostly grumpy, at them both, before reaching out with one arm, still holding part of the blanket, to grab around Trevor's back and drag him closer. Despite the quiet protests about being 'fine', Lambert drew the pup in close, tucking him into his side, blanket wrapped around them both. Lambert glared over Trevor's head at Eskel before closing his eyes.

Eskel, despite the warning, could not wipe the soft, sappy smile from his face. It tugged at his scars, but for once, that did not bother him. Before he settled in next to the pup, Eskel leaned just over him. Lambert was suspiciously still when Eskel pressed against him, forehead to temple.

"Sleep well."

Lambert grunted, apparently done with any sort of emotional displays; When Eskel reached out though, under the thicker blanket over all three of them, and wrapped an arm to hold the other two close, Lambert just sighed, slipping easily into sleep again. Eskel allowed himself a moment to bask, in the heat of the hearth, the warmth of the blankets, the comfort of having family so close, breathing under his hand and against his chest, before he too closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.