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As she stepped out Kaer Morhen this morning, Vica saw a sword flying through the yard. While she pondered if this was considered a normal thing during sparing, she heard Lambert.
“You fucking jerk!“
Vica smiled. Him cursing vocally was indeed normal.
“Lambert, your sloppy defense is hardly my fault!“
She turned her head to see Vesemir, arms crossed in front of his chest, looking more resigned than angry at this point.
Another normal thing.
The old witcher took two steps towards Lambert and furrowed his brow. "Let me see.“
“Abso-fucking-lutely not!“ Lambert shook his head while pressing the thumb and index finger of his left hand against the bridge of his nose. He snorted and went straight up to Vica. "I‘ll let her see it, cause she fucking cares.“
Vesemir shook his head as he headed towards the couple. “Good morning, Vica. There‘s a bottle of Whiskey in the kitchen. Good quality from Alderberg, Eskel brought it from his last contract there.“
Vica smiled at the old man before she inspected Lambert‘s face. There was a faint stream of blood running through the fingers he had still pressed to his nose. She shook her head. "G‘morning, Vesemir. Guess a clean cloth and hot water will suffice.“
Vesemir gave her a brief smile in return. "The Whiskey was meant for you.“ He looked at Lambert, raising a brow. "And for your own good, my dear child, don‘t spoil him too much. This is barely a scratch.“ With a small pat on Vica‘s shoulder, he walked towards the stables.
"That fucking prick!“ Lambert hissed. As he was about to run after his mentor, Vica put a hand on his chest.
"It‘s alright, Lambert. Let‘s go look after that wound.“
She prevented any further protest with the method that had proven best for such instances – placing a hand on the back of Lambert‘s neck and pulling him into an ardent kiss.
***
Fifteen minutes later they sat on Lambert‘s bed. Vica had cleaned both the wound and his face and albeit having been very careful, the witcher had groaned several times. As Vica was content with her work and went to rinse the bloody cloths, Lambert took her hand.
"You got a mirror?“
"A mirror?“ She asked in surprise.
Lambert nodded. "Yeah. Little thing you use to check your looks.“
"I see you‘re already back to top condition,“ she winked as she went to the chest that Lambert had brought from another room. After some time of rummaging through her stuff, she pulled out a simple hand mirror. A present from her uncle who had told her that there definitely would come a time where she would need it.
Guess this wasn‘t the exact situation you had in mind, uncle Harry.
Vica smiled as she handed Lambert the mirror. He turned it in his hands and let his fingers glide over its glass enclosure before he examined his reflection. After what seemed like ages of furrowed brows, head tilts and critical looks, he finally sighed and put the mirror on his bed.
"What‘s wrong?“ Vica asked, sitting down beside him and taking his hand.
Lambert snorted. "That fucking slash on my nose.“
She gave him a confused look. "It really isn‘t that bad. See, the scars on your cheek are much bigger and...“
"They aren‘t on my fucking NOSE, pup.“
She sighed. "Obviously not.“ Interlacing her fingers with his, she pondered. "I guess we could stitch it up.“
"Sorry to decline but thinking about how you stitch your clothes I‘d look like a ragdoll afterwards,“ he laughed. As Vica wanted to respond, he wrapped his arm around her. "‘s alright, pup.“
Snuggling up to him, Vica enjoyed the physical contact for a few moments before her curiosity got the better of her.
"What‘s the problem with having a scar on your nose?“
For a while, he just looked at her. As Lambert noticed that Vica withstood his glance, he sighed. "One word to the other morons and I‘ll set you out in the forest.“
Vica shook her head. "Not your brightest idea. Who‘s supposed to keep you warm at night, then?“
"Pup...“
She gave him a bright, tooth gap-showing smile, well knowing that she had won just another discussion. "I won‘t breathe a word about it, promised.“
Giving her another glance, he sighed. "Hate it. Always have.“
"What exactly?“
"My nose.“ He rolled his eyes.
Vica hesitated. "Why?“
"Pup, you have two working eyes, so fucking see for yourself.“
"I do, there‘s nothing wrong with your nose. Not at all.“
"Apart from the fact that it‘s crooked“, he snorted.
"You can barely see it.“
"Maybe your eyesight isn‘t that good.“
Now it was Vica‘s turn to simply glance. Finally, Lambert sighed. "Got it broken two times as a kid.“
She nodded. "Sorry to hear that, but I‘m sure a lot of young witchers suffered from similar wounds.“
"...before I came to the Kaer.“ His tone had become strident.
Vica blinked. "Oh.“
Lambert snorted. "The first time I was about two or three and way too clumsy to dodge my father‘s fist.“ He gave her his well-exercised parody of a smile. "No worries, I learned quickly. Problem was, my father did, too. Guess the second time was worse, because he was sober then.“
"I‘m sorry, Lambert, I...“ Vica bit her lip.
"Already said that,“ he answered, looking out the window. A couple of moments later, he shook his head. "Nevermind. ‘s been a lifetime ago.“
"But for you it‘s still reason enough to hate your nose.“
He shrugged. "What can I say? I‘m a vain man.“
"No, you‘re hurt,“ Vica said, her voice firm. Slowly, she raised her hand and stroked his nose. "But sometimes, hurt can be healed.“
Lambert smirked. "Maybe you should start writing ballads, too. With shit like that you‘d give Dandelion a run for his money.“
"Problem is, my sappy ballads are reserved for you and for you only,“ she blinked at him before she put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him closer.
"And why is that, Vica?“
"Because I like you.“
"That so?“ Lambert asked, closing his eyes.
"It is. And I do like your nose as well.“ She caressed his cheek and planted a kiss on the tip of his nose.