Work Text:
Lambert slams his fist on the table.
“All I’m saying’s that love is stupid!” he growls drunkenly, his ginger locks swinging around his face. “So fucking stupid. Who needs love, eh? Look at Geralt. Madly in love with his bard, and what good did it ever do him, eh?”
Vesemir sighs, rolling his eyes. They’ve been having this discussion every other night for three months now.
“Well, at least I can still feel!” Geralt proclaims dramatically, downing the contents of his cup – and honestly, not even Vesemir knows what exactly it is that they are drinking at this point, and how much White Gull the boys added to it.
“Isn’t that the point of being a Witcher? That you don’t have human emotions?” Lambert snorts.
“You know damn well that’s what common idiots think,” Eskel shrugs. “Besides, it’s quite clear that you can feel, too. Anger, for one thing.”
“Damn right I can!” Lambert says. “I’m angry, right. So fucking angry. Because this fucking moron with hair like snowman’s cum–”
“Hey!” Geralt protests.
“–has been moaning and groaning about that fucking whore of his for months! Stop giving me that look, Wolf! You’ve mentioned like thirty people the bard’s slept with who weren’t you, so don’t even try to convince me he’s not a whore!”
“I think the word whore implies he does it for money,” Eskel chuckles. “But Jaskier only does it out of the goodness of his heart.”
“My point is,” Lambert mutters before Geralt has a chance to open his mouth, “that love is a fucking idiotic concept, and that I’d rather die than be forced to feel my knees quiver and my lips break into a smile whenever I see him or whatever the fuck the ballads tell you is supposed to happen when you love someone.”
He uncorks a bottle and drinks straight from it.
Geralt blinks.
“But Jaskier isn’t a whore!” he mumbles. “He’s just… Very easy with his affections.”
“We know he is, Wolf. We know,” Eskel nods solemnly, patting the big man’s back.
Vesemir sighs again and exchanges a look with the only one of his sons who isn’t a complete idiot and drunk out of his mind.
They are both aware of the fact that no matter what he says and how much he hates the concept of love, a part of Lambert really wishes to find someone who could make him smile. (As opposed to Eskel, who has no problem with the concept of love, as long as it stays the fuck away from him personally, thank you very much.)
“Ssstupid,” Lambert hisses when he puts down the bottle. A second later, he slides down underneath the table and starts snoring.
No, Vesemir decides. He simply cannot allow this to go on…
A young Witcher walks into a tavern. He’s dark-haired and green-eyed, short, but lean, and his perfect bronze skin is unmarred by a single scar, a very unusual thing for a Witcher.
He sits down on a bench by a seemingly random table and flashes a bright smile at a man sitting opposite him.
“Alderman,” the Witcher says.
“Oh,” the man says. “You’re back.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed, please,” the Witcher grins. “I came to tell you that I took care of your harpy problem.”
“Did you? Wasn’t it a little too fast? I mean, I only sent you after them this morning.”
“Yes, but you sounded so very urgent that I figured I should waste no time.”
“Hm,” the alderman frowns, eyeing him from head to toe – well, from head to chest, as the rest is covered fro his gaze by the table. “You don’t have any blood on yourself.”
“Change of clothes. Wouldn’t want to disturb the sensibility of your good citizens.”
“Hm,” the alderman repeats. “Well, you were done a little too soon for my liking, see?”
“Let me guess,” the Witcher says. His smile doesn’t falter, but it promptly vanishes from his eyes. “You want to renegotiate the payment.”
“Yeah. A hundred crowns. That’s the new price.”
“A bit lower than I expected,” the Witcher nods. “But very well. The previous reward seemed a little too generous, I’ll give you that.”
“Glad you admit it.”
“But before we agree on this… slightly lowered price, I think you should have all the information.”
“All the… What?” the alderman frowns.
“Did you know there was a noonwraith in the fields not far from your village, my dear friend?”
“Nonsense,” the man snorts. “Noonwraiths are a just… tales to scare naughty children with!”
“Is that what you think? I hate to tell you, but they’re very, very real. And everything you’ve ever heard about them is true. They stalk the fields at noon, hurt people who are unlucky enough to run into them… Yes, even children. See, you tell them those tales because they’re true. Although I must say that I really do not recommend actually trying to call a noonwraith to take care of a misbehaving child, because there was a case when she indeed came, and it didn’t end very… well.”
“Gods. But what… What can we do?”
“You see,” the Witcher sighs dramatically, “since the original reward for the harpy nest was so generous, I thought I’d offer you to take care of the noonwraith for free, but as the circumstances have changed…”
“They haven’t!” the alderman almost yells. “Here. Three hundred crowns, as we agreed.”
The Witcher eyes the purse the alderman has thrown onto the table.
“Three?” he blinks. “I could swear that it was four hundred…”
“You...” the alderman growls.
“Noonwraith, my dear friend,” the Witcher smiles. “I mean, if you don’t want to pay the price, you’re more than welcome to find another Witcher. I’m sure there’s one passing through the town every few months…”
“I… I…” The alderman groans. “All right, have it your way, you thief!”
“I’m so very glad that you’re a reasonable man,” the Witcher grins. “I shall start immediately.”
The Witcher is busy saddling his horse when he hears a meaningful cough behind him. He turns around, expecting either the alderman who’s changed his mind, or a concerned citizen who overheard their conversation.
Instead of those, he finds an amused elderly Witcher standing in the stable door.
“There isn’t any noonwraith in the fields, is there?” the man asks, lifting one gray eyebrow.
The young Witcher pretends to return his attention to his horse, but from the corner of his eye, he carefully inspects the man.
“Well… no,” he finally admits, after way too many seconds of silence.
Judging by his medallion, the man is a Wolf. Fucking fantastic.
“Thought so,” the Wolf smirks. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Why? Wanna file a complaint?” the young one chuckles. “Look, I’m sorry if I hurt your delicate Wolf feelings with my… creative negotiation, but some of us actually do like to get paid for doing our job. And there was an awful lot of harpies, you can trust me on that.”
“I actually have an offer for you.”
“A business one, I hope.”
“It’s a little more… complicated.”
The young Witcher smiles a slightly crooked smile and turns his head (and his whole attention) to the old Wolf.
“I’m listening,” he says.
He has a feeling that this is going to be very interesting.
“Fucking idiot, how many fucking times did I need to tell him not to fucking come in here, what sort of a nekker-brained moron wouldn’t understand that it’s a bad fucking idea…” Lambert murmurs, staring at a heap of clothes and tissue that used to be a human being not very long ago.
He takes a deep breath, planning on continuing his swearing tirade, but then he hears the clapping of hooves and promptly shuts his mouth.
He turns around just in time to see a lithe, brown skinned man dismount and tie his horse to a nearby tree.
“Oh, wow,” the man – no, the Witcher, because it’s only now that Lambert notices the two swords on the man’s back and the medallion on his chest – pants. “Did you know there were two contracts for the ogre of Ellander? Two! Fuck me with a cactus, that’s just my luck. Hey. Wouldn’t you happen to know where can I find the guy who wants the ogre freed from the curse, not killed?”
“Yeah,” Lambert blinks, pointing at the heap. “Right here.”
“Ouch,” the Witcher comments. “A hunt gone wrong?”
“No idea. I just found him like this,” Lambert shrugs. “And you are…”
“Shit, sorry. My name’s Aiden,” the man grins, offering Lambert his hand. “I’m a Witcher. Shocking, I know.”
“Shocking,” Lambert nods, ignoring Aiden’s outstretched arm. “I’m Lambert.”
“Oh, thank fuck.”
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Aiden says with a bright smile and lowers his hand, which for some reason makes Lambert regret that he didn’t take it when he had the chance.
Lambert shakes his head and pokes the heap on the ground with his boot.
“I take it you accepted the contract for killing the ogre, right?” he asks. “Happen to know where I could get that? Since my employer clearly won’t be able to pay me, and honestly, seeing this, I don’t think the ogre can be saved.”
“I mean, I’m no expert… But I agree,” Aiden nods. “And I have a wonderful idea!”
“I’m all ears.”
“See, I have already accepted the contract for killing the beast. If you help me, we can split the reward.”
“And why would you do that?” Lambert smirks. “No offense, kitten–”
“Kitten?”
“–but if you just do the job yourself, you can keep all the money.”
“The thing is, seeing this,” Aiden says, pointing his index finger at the body on the ground, “I’m not very excited to go in there alone. But I’m gonna have to if you call me a kitten again. Because I’ll kill you.”
“Mhm,” Lambert hums, chuckling. “Right. Let’s go, kitty.”
Aiden looks from Lambert to the body and back again, clearly considering all the possibilities. In the end, he sighs and unsheathes his silver sword.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a terrible dick, Lambert?”
“Not today, no.”
“Oh, just great,” Aiden murmurs. “I’m so gonna regret this…”
“What the fuck do you mean it was Vesemir who sent you?!” Lambert yells, slamming his tankard on the table.
“I think the statement is pretty self-explanatory,” Aiden shrugs.
“And you didn’t think about mentioning this sooner because…”
“Because I honestly wanted you to help me kill the fucking ogre.”
Lambert finds his flask of White Gull and pours half of its contents into his ale.
“I should have known something was amiss,” he growls. “Pretty Witchers who’re currently hunting the same beast as you don’t just fall from the sky like that.”
“Pretty?” Aiden grins.
“Shut up, kitty,” Lambert growls. “What did he offer? What’s in it for you?”
“An insufferable bitchy asshole for a companion, apparently.”
“Come on, now. No need to lie. Whatever he offered you for putting up with me–”
“He didn’t offer anything.”
Lambert stares at him for quite a few seconds, his brain frantically trying to process the information.
“You mean…” he blinks. “That you’re doing it for free?”
“Well, yeah?” Aiden smiles. “He told me about you and I thought Yeah, that’s my kind of a bitch. So I thought, whatever, I might try to find him. And I was right, you are my kind of a bitch. And honestly, I’m sick and tired of traveling alone.”
“Hm,” Lambert hums and pushes his flask towards Aiden. “And what’s in it for me? An insufferable bitchy asshole for a companion, too?”
“Well, yeah,” Aiden laughs, and it’s the most precious laugh Lambert’s ever heard. “Also, I know how to get paid the full price for my contracts.”
“Bullshit. Nobody gets paid the full price.”
“I got paid the full price today, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, by flat-out lying,” Lambert snorts.
“Damn. Who told you my secret?” Aiden gasps, his eyes going comically wide.
Oh, fuck, Lambert thinks. That’s my kind of a bitch.
“Whatever,” he mutters. “Look, thanks for the offer, but I’m actually used to traveling alone and–”
“Come on, Lambert, don’t be a dick,” Aiden says, looking at Lambert with those green eyes. “I really like you, so… Let’s just try it. As friends. What have you got to lose, eh?”
Lambert looks at the pretty face before him, the gorgeous, easy smile, the eyes that seem almost too honest for a Cat Witcher…
“Nothing, probably,” he shrugs.
Nothing but my sanity, he thinks when the smile grows into an almost adorable grin.
“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know how to mix your own potions?!”
Aiden doesn’t even bother to look up from his sword.
“I mean I never had to. I always just buy them from other Witchers.”
“You always just…” Lambert blinks.
“You see, Cat training doesn’t exactly focus on unimportant things like… that.”
“Are you trying to tell me that if I ever get tired of being a Witcher, I can just make money by selling potions to Cat Witchers?”
“You already are tired of being a Witcher.”
“Precisely.”
Aiden chuckles and Lambert has to bite his cheek to stop himself from smiling.
“How much do you want for making a few potions for me?” Aiden asks, finally lifting his head.
Lambert snorts and bends down to grab his pack.
“I don’t know how you’re still alive, kitty.”
“I’m just really good with my sword,” Aiden grins.
“Okay, Lambert, if you’d just–” Aiden ducks to avoid being hit by a big, leather-bound notebook flying his way.
“Fucking idiot!” Lambert yells, the notebook being followed by a dagger. Aiden ducks again.
“Oh, come on, Lambert, it wasn’t that horrible,” he sighs. “I mean, using Igni on a wraith wasn’t the perfectest of choices, I admit–”
“I specifically told you to use Yrden!” Lambert snarls. “Yrden!”
“Well, this probably isn’t the right time to tell you, but I tend to confuse my signs when I’m in a rush, so…”
“How the fuck can you confuse Yrden with anything else?! Yrden is… Yrden! It’s like confusing a werewolf with a noblewoman’s lapdog!”
“Believe it or not, but some schools aren’t obsessed with making their students learn every skill perfectly. I was never really good with signs, you see–”
“Yeah, and you don’t know shit about monsters, either!”
“Excuse me?” Aiden blinks, straightening up only to find out that Lambert was hiding another dagger.
“You don’t. You’re not even keeping a fucking bestiary! I honestly doubt you know the difference between a ghoul and an alghoul!”
“Does knowing the difference make any difference when you actually fight them?”
“Yes, it fucking does!”
“Says who?”
“Says fucking everyone, you reckless nekker!”
Aiden takes a deep breath, placing his hands on his hips.
“You see, and that’s just the problem with you fucking Wolves!”
“What is? That we use our brains?!”
“No, no, no,” Aiden growls, gesturing wildly. “You’re just so fucking… stiff! You’re perfect and proud of it! You know everything about potions, about monsters, about signs–”
“We just like to stay alive!” Lambert snarls, taking a few steps towards Aiden. “You have a problem with that, kitty?”
“Well, I’ve managed to stay alive just fine without you so far!”
“That’s just funny, because I could swear I saved your stupid ass at least ten times in those few months we spent traveling together!”
“Yeah, you really are just perfect!” Aiden yells, closing the distance between them, trying very hard to look big and imposing – not very successfully, since he is much shorter than Lambert. “A good Wolf, aren’t you, sticking to all your rules? Be nice to people who refuse to pay you for doing your job. Don’t walk away from the contract. Don’t kill if it’s not absolutely necessary.”
“You know we actually don’t have any of–”
“Don’t fuck Cats!” Aiden blurts out, making Lambert pause and blink a few times.
“What?” the Wolf asks.
“What?” Aiden repeats.
“You know we definitely don’t have a rule against that, right?” Lambert chuckles, slowly coming to a realization that Aiden is standing way, way too close, and looking annoyingly… kissable.
“Oh,” Aiden whispers. “Good to know.”
Well, Lambert thinks when he feels Aiden’s lips on his. Fuck me.
And Aiden does.
Lambert lets out a satisfied hum when Aiden’s arms give up and he falls down straight into the redhead’s embrace.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “That was just glorious.”
“I’ve noticed,” Aiden chuckles. “Gods. Please tell me this wasn’t a one time occurrence.”
“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready to go again, if you want.”
“Good puppy,” Aiden says and lifts his head from Lambert’s chest. “But that’s not what I asked.”
Lambert looks into his lover’s bright eyes and feels his lips break into a smile he simply cannot fight.
“You can have me as many times as you want in the future, kitty,” he says, running his fingers through Aiden’s dark hair. “Though preferably not on the ground, in the fields and right next to a dead hare.”
“Hare?”
Lambert smirks and points to his left side.
“Ugh. Sorry,” Aiden laughs.
“Well, to be fair, I only noticed now. Was kind of busy before.”
“Mhm...” Aiden murmurs, resting his head on Lambert’s chest again. “Hey, Lambs? You think I could borrow your bestiary?”
“Sure. It’s that book I threw at you earlier. Be warned, though, most of the drawings there aren’t exactly accurate.”
“Let me guess, they’re just giant dicks?”
“You know me so well, kitten…”
The first night all the Wolves gather at Kaer Morhen for the winter ends up with Geralt drunkenly hiding his face in his hands and crying.
“Yeah,” Lambert nods, patting his back. “You’re right, Wolf. Love really is stupid.”
Eskel exchanges a tired look with Vesemir, who sighs. He really hoped sending the young Cat after Lambert would make a difference, but it seems that he was mistaken.
“But,” Lambert grins. “I think the only thing standing between you and a glorious fuck is your own stubbornness. That bard of yours really is a slut.”
“But I don’t wanna be just one of many!” Geralt groans. “I wanna be his only one!”
“Your own stubbornness and idiocy,” Lambert says. “Forget about love, Wolf. Trust me, friends with benefits works just as good, perhaps better.”
Eskel raises an eyebrow. Vesemir smiles.
“But I love him!” Geralt whines.
“Oh, Melitele’s sagging tits,” Lambert groans, uncorking his bottle of white gull. “This is gonna be a long fucking winter.”
“Lambs!”
The air is still cold as fuck, but the grass is green, the sun is shining and Aiden is smiling at him. Before he can stop himself, Lambert is grinning back.
“Hey, kitty,” he says. “How was your winter?”
“Boring. Yours?” Aiden says, tugging a lone red curl behind Lambert’s ear.
“Fucking insufferable. Any strand of white hair you find on my head is Geralt’s fault. Unrequited love. Dear gods. I don’t know if I want to kill him first, or that bard of his.”
“Sounds like you should bring me along next year,” Aiden laughs.
“What, are you gonna help me decide?” Lambert chuckles quickly, because Aiden’s words make him almost yearn for the Cat’s presence at Kaer Morhen.
“Absolutely,” Aiden winks. “You just kill both, dear. Problem solved.”
“Mhm. Never thought of that. You’re a clever, clever kitten.”
“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me a kitten?”
Lambert laughs and presses his lips against Aiden’s.
“No idea. Just keep trying.”
The late summer sun is flowing through the window. They decided to spend the night in a tavern instead of sleeping under the stars and Lambert doesn’t regret the money they paid for the room. It’s amazing to just laze about in the bed and watch Aiden’s face lit by the sunlight, his eyes focused on the pages of Lambert’s bestiary, a little smirk when he reaches a certain part of the page…
“What’s so funny?” Lambert asks just to drown out the fondness the sight makes him feel.
“Oh, nothing. Apparently ekimmaras are vulnerable to something called a devil’s puffball. I have no idea what it is, but it sounds kinda funny.”
“Seriously?!” Lambert whines, sitting up. “What the fuck do the older Cats even teach you, in the name of Vesemir’s wrinkled cock?!”
“You know, important things. Like… stealing.”
“Melitele’s empty knockers,” Lambert whispers. “Are you absolutely sure that you are a Witcher?!”
“Less and less with every day I spend with you, why?” Aiden laughs. “Wait, so what is it?”
“Oh, Aiden,” Lambert sighs, shaking his head. “You really should come with me to Kaer Morhen for the winter.”
“Should I?” Aiden chuckles, raising an eyebrow.
“I mean… To be properly trained as a Witcher.”
“Of course.” Aiden shuts the book and smiles the most adorable smile Lambert has ever seen. “Why else?”
Yeah, Lambert thinks. Why else…
“You know, you really should just come with me,” Lambert says a few days before they’re about to part their ways for the winter.
“Really? Why?” Aiden asks, not looking up from the bestiary.
“Because there are much better books about monsters at Kaer Morhen than this shit. And if you don’t come, and if Geralt still hasn’t pulled his head out of his arse and spread his legs for Jaskier, there might actually be a fratricide.”
“And you need me to stop you or encourage you?”
“I’m serious, Aiden. Come with me. I want you to.”
“You, serious? That would be a first,” Aiden chuckles. “But come on. You know I have a contract.”
“Yeah, the duke’s daughter,” Lambert sighs. “You know how I feel about that.”
“I do, and I beg you not to repeat it. Besides, it’s hardly my fault that a certain Wolf decided to teach me that it’s not right to take money for a job and run.”
“In this case, I have a feeling it’s the only right thing to do,” Lambert mutters. “Ugh, fine. If I help you with the contract, will you come with me to Kaer Morhen?”
“Why would you help me?” Aiden blinks.
“Because I want you to come with me, try to keep up. And it’s what we do, isn’t it? Work together.”
“Really, Lambert?” Aiden asks, almost literally beaming. “You’d help me even though you don’t like the job?”
“I’m gonna help you especially because I don’t like the job. But let me warn you – if we get killed, I’ll fucking murder you.”
“See, if we do get killed, Lambs…”
“Murder,” Lambert growls. “Don’t think being dead already is gonna stop me. I don’t care, I’ll gladly kill you in the afterlife.”
Aiden just laughs and turns his attention back to the bestiary.
“What did I say about the job?” Lambert growls, pressing a piece of cloth to the skin underneath Aiden’s right eye.
“That it stinks worse than Geralt’s leather-clad balls on a hot summer day,” Aiden murmurs.
“And?” Lambert says, lifting an eyebrow.
“You want me to say that you were right, don’t you?”
“I think the carnage around us kind of proves that, but yeah, it would be nice to actually hear it.”
“Ugh. Fine. You were right, you smug bastard. Happy?” Aiden says, pointedly not looking at several bodies that surround them.
“You can’t even imagine,” Lambert says. “Congrats, by the way. You finally got yourself a proper Witcher scar.”
“Lucky me.”
“Well, you’re lucky to be fucking alive.”
“I know. Thanks to you, of course.”
“Of course,” Lambert nods. “Seriously, what would you have done if I hadn’t been here?”
“Died, I guess?” Aiden shrugs. “And I’d have deserved it. A stupid Witcher is a dead Witcher, after all. It would have been a terrible shame, of course, but… Lambs? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Lambert shakes his head. “Just… Would you fucking hold this fucking thing over your own wound, or do you expect me to do everything around here?”
Aiden frowns, placing his fingers over Lambert’s on the piece of fabric, expecting Lambert to pull his hand away – but he doesn’t.
“You’re shaking,” Aiden observes.
“No shit,” Lambert growls, looking away. “I just… fuck you, Aiden, seriously. I don’t want to imagine you dying like this, okay?”
“Why? Because I’m the only person who’s willing to put up with your shit?”
“No, I–”
“And I’m the only friend you’ve ever had except your brothers?”
“Fuck off, you stupid–”
“Or is it because I’m so beautiful that the idea of the beauty rotting in ground–”
“It’s because I fucking love you, you brain-damaged Cat!” Lambert yells.
Aiden stops and blinks. Opens his mouth. Blinks again. Shuts his mouth. Blinks.
And then his lips form a wide, bright smile.
“Oh,” he says. “Well… That makes sense, I guess.”
Before Lambert can say anything, he’s being pushed to the ground by a very excited Cat Witcher. “Aiden,” he murmurs. “We’re literally surrounded by dead bodies-”
“Shut up,” Aiden sighs, pressing his lips against Lambert’s throat.
“And you’re fucking bleeding all over me–”
“Have I mentioned that I love you too, puppy?”
“Oh,” Lambert grins, licking his lips. “In that case, I guess a little bit of blood never killed anybody…”
“And look what the wolf dragged in.”
Lambert turns his head to see a grinning Vesemir leaning against the wall of the keep.
“Been waiting here long?” the young Wolf smirks.
“I have, in fact. Either you’re growing old and it takes you twice as long as expected to get home, or you stopped for a quick fuck on your way up.”
“Well, I’m certainly not growing old,” Lambert winks. “And the smugness doesn’t suit you, by the way.”
“Doesn’t it?” Vesemir asks, his grin growing even wider.
Lambert rolls his eyes.
“I suppose you remember Aiden?”
“Hello, Vesemir,” Aiden smiles, waving. “I’d like to report that the job’s done.”
“I can see that,” Vesemir chuckles. “Welcome to Kaer Morhen, pup.”
“Who else is here already?” Lambert asks. “Please tell me Geralt’s finally brought that stupid bard of his.”
“Be nice to your brother. He fell in love with a beautiful sorceress.”
“What about the bard?”
“Oh, well, he loves the bard, too,” Vesemir sighs. “It’s kind of… complicated.”
“Fuck,” Lambert mutters. “What do you think, Aiden, is it too late to turn back and try our luck with the duke’s daughter?”
“We were lucky we got out of there alive!”
“If Geralt’s in love with a bard and a sorceress at the same fucking time, we weren’t lucky at all, kitty.”
“I agree,” Vesemir nods. “He’s been here for two days and I’m already tempted to send him on a hunt.”
“Come with me to Kaer Morhen, he said,” Aiden groans. “It’s gonna be fun, he said…”
“It is gonna be fun,” Lambert says. “Wanna see the library, kitty?”
“Depends. Will you show me the books, or will you let me fuck you against a bookshelf?”
“My love, I would never violate our precious library like that!” Lambert gasps for breath, feigning shock and dismay. “Vesemir would have my head!”
“Damn right I would,” Vesemir nods solemnly. “Or perhaps both your cocks.”
“See? Can’t risk that,” Lambert tells Aiden with a quick wink.
“Oh, no,” Aiden agrees, licking his lips. “We absolutely cannot.”
Eskel hears a high-pitched squeal and raises his head just when Lambert walks into the dining hall, Aiden thrown unceremoniously over his shoulder. Geralt, who is sitting opposite Eskel, carefully doesn’t turn around, and instead lifts a tankard to his lips.
“I told you, no more reading for today!” Lambert says.
“But it was just getting interesting!” Aiden complains. “Did you know that basilisk venom can be neutralized by Golden Oriole?”
Lambert stops dead in his tracks, just in front of the table Eskel and Geralt are sitting at.
“You mean you fucking didn’t?!” he whines.
“Uhm, I did, of course! I just… What exactly is Golden Oriole?”
“By Melitele’s tight cunt,” Lambert whispers, turning around.
“Wait! Where are you going?!”
“Back to your books,” Lambert snorts. “What exactly is Golden Oriole! What’s next, you can’t cast a fucking Igni?”
“I can cast an Igni! Look at that candle on the table.”
Lambert pauses, waiting for a few seconds, but the candle stays unlit.
“Eskel?” Lambert smirks. “What did he cast?”
“Axii.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” Lambert growls, heading for the door.
“In my defense, I’ve been hanging upside down for a few minutes now, so–”
“Remember how I had to Igni the shit out of that water hag just seconds after you fucked me into oblivion, incidentally also upside down?” Lambert smirks. “Monsters don’t care about your excuses, darling. Or your lack of armor.”
“Oh, come on, Lambs, you have the whole winter to teach me–”
“Exactly. We gotta use all the time we can get,” Lambert says. “Now shut up. If you’re a good boy, I might spread my legs for you later.”
The door slams behind them and Geralt puts down his tankard.
“I hate this,” he murmurs drunkenly.
“Oh, come on, they’re not so bad,” Eskel shrugs. “I mean, Aiden is… nice. For someone who can put up with Lambert’s shit.”
“No, I…” Geralt hiccups. “I hate love. It’s so fucking stupid.”
“Wasn’t it you who claimed that at least you can still feel?” Eskel chuckles.
“Ssstupid!” Geralt hisses before his body falls forward. He hits the table with his forehead and promptly starts snoring.
“Oh, dear,” Eskel sighs, taking a sip from Geralt’s tankard, filled with pure White Gull. “Here we go again.”