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“Well,” Geralt said, and the word echoed even more than it normally would.
“Uh-huh.”
It was another hour before either said anything.
“Really just us,” Geralt stood, and moved closer to the fire.
“Yup.”
Geralt walked to the main hall door and cracked it open because maybe there was a chance that Vesemir and Eskel would still be able to make it. The snow poured in, and it took work to close the door. It was not supposed to be this bad yet, but it was. Eskel hadn’t arrived yet, and Vesemir had headed down to get more supplies. The storm had swelled so quickly and was more vicious than any Geralt had seen before at Kaer Morhen. There would be no climbing the mountain for the other two.
It was going to be he and Lambert alone all winter.
He was resigned and accepted the fact that by the end of winter the wolf school would be down two witchers. No way did they survive without the buffer of the other two. “This is not good,” Geralt sighed.
“Eh,” Lambert had a book in hand, and was clearly trying to read.
“Lambert, it is just the two of us,” Geralt turned, and came back to the chairs. “It will be difficult to maintain the place just the two of us.”
“So we don’t,” Lambert turned the page of his book. “Easy.”
“Easy?” Geralt growled and Lambert snarled back. “The four of us can barely do what needs doing all winter to make sure the place is habitable.”
“That’s because you three want to save the whole thing. If we focused just on the west tower - you know the one with the kitchen, we’ll be fine.”
“There is only one useful bedroom over there.”
“It is the whole damn loft,” Lambert looked up from his book. “We move a few of the mattresses and furs over, conserves wood, if we only need one fire going instead of two.”
That was actually a fair point. If they stayed in that tower all winter they might actually be able to manage but still. “The west barracks need shoring up or the roof will collapse.”
“Then the roof collapses.”
Geralt shook his head, “We have to -”
“We have to what, Geralt?” Lambert put the book down. “Even if the four of us were here, that roof would collapse. It isn’t that important.”
“Not important, it is where we were raised.”
“It is where we mostly died,” Lambert snapped back, “And I didn’t make it this far to die there now.”
“That is cruel.”
“That is fact.”
“Lambert -” Geralt wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. The man wasn’t wrong, but Geralt didn’t particularly want him to be right. “We should move our things to the tower,” was what he came up with finally.
“Yup.”
“Is it going to be like that all winter?”
“Dunno, winter is a long time,” Lambert replied. “But you’ve just let me know a way I can annoy you - that was probably a mistake.”
Fuck, it really was. Geralt went to his room, his room for decades now and gathered up a few things. It wasn’t like he couldn’t come back to this room after all. He moved his personal things over and saw Lambert setting up several of the old mattresses. “That is a lot of space.”
“It is for both of us.”
“Why?”
“Look at the shape of the room, Geralt. Heat will be most effectively conserved if we sleep near each other.”
“You said not even an hour ago it was a huge space and we could sleep well apart.” Geralt glared at him. “What’s the change?”
“Fire is going well, right?” Geralt grunted in reply. “Walk around the room, decide where you want to sleep since my perfectly placed nest isn’t to your tastes.” Lambert continued to set up the area, which yes did look very cozy but still, they weren’t on the path, Geralt wanted more padding between himself and the floor. He walked around the room to figure out where he could set up but the floor creaked, or there was a draft, it just didn’t feel right. He wandered back to the spot where Lambert was still fussing.
“Fine, but still, why aren’t we moving a frame in here?”
“Because the only thing that heavy that I am willing to carry up here is my giant dick.”
Geralt wouldn’t laugh, that would encourage the man, but he couldn’t stop the snort that slid out. “I’ll go get my blankets and pillows.” He went back down and returned quickly. They were snatched out of his hand and added carefully to the mix.
“There, lay down on that and tell me it is like being on the path,” Lambert said. Geralt started to move, “No that is my side you are on that side.”
“Does it matter?”
“Depends, I might stab you if I sleep on the wrong side, but sure it doesn’t matter.”
Geralt looked at him, debated it. And honestly, yeah, Lambert would stab him over a which side of the bed to sleep on thing. He went to the other side and lay down. Well fuck, it was more comfortable than his mattress in his room. “How did you do that?”
“All in how you stack pallets,” Lambert replied, “put a few thin sheets of wood between the ground and the pallets as well.”
Geralt burrowed down a bit. “Good.”
“I know.”
Geralt looked up at Lambert, it was such an odd angle, being on the ground, Lambert looming over him. There are few he would trust like this, let him be so vulnerable before. But as much as Lambert pissed him off, he utterly trusted the fellow witcher. “Join me?”
Lambert shrugged and lay down as well, a good bit of space between them. It was both awkward and not. They lay there not saying a word, and Geralt appreciated the quiet. It was also odd. Lambert didn’t reach Jaskier levels of noise but he liked to talk, complain mostly, but still this much quiet was odd. He waited for Lambert to break the silence but he didn’t. It was warm and comfortable and the quiet had Geralt drifting off. When he woke the fire was lower and yet the space itself was warmer. He sat up and looked around. There were furs covering most of the ground, a tapestry over the window, rags in the cracks in mortar. The loft was cozy, inviting. He could pick bringing a mulled cider up there with a book.
He hadn’t known Lambert was capable of creating such comfort. The man never let any of them into his room, perhaps it was like this in there as well. Geralt stretched and his cock half hard. He thought about taking care of it but for all the cozy there wasn’t a lot of privacy. He’d hear Lambert coming up the stairs but still that would be rather awkward. It would pass quickly enough. One floor down there was a garderrobe and he used it, surprised how fresh it smelled; Lambert had been busy while Geralt had slept. All the way down and Lambert wasn’t in the kitchen but there was a pot simmering, bones and water, a stock for soup. He breathed in caught various scents and there was Lambert.
In the meat stores, Lambert was carving a bit off a haunch hanging from the rafters. “Venison.”
“My favourite,” Geralt replied.
“I know.” Lambert put the cuts on a plate and moved forward. “You are blocking the door.”
“Why are you being…generous?” Geralt asked. He needed to know.
“Because winter here can be shit enough the four of us. Just two? Don’t have the luxury of winding you up like I usually would.”
“Yes, but you are being so competent.” That was the wrong thing to say, and he didn’t block the light aard that pushed him out of the way. “I’m sorry.”
“Fuck off, Geralt.” Lambert went to the kitchen and Geralt followed. The meat was put on the counter and then flour was spread out on the table. He watched as Lambert made bread. “Yes, I can do this.”
“I see that,” Geralt stared as the dough formed. “Vesemir cooks.”
“Wow, the only person in the world who cooks, huh?”
“I’m horrible at it.”
“I know,” Lambert covered the dough with a rag, bustled around the kitchen. “You do laundry, clean the garderrobe, I’ll do all the cooking. Like fuck I’m going to die because you didn’t know how to cook chicken properly.”
“I know how to cook it properly. I am always very specific about that because it could kill Jaskier.”
“So, you overcook it until you could repair your boots with it, it is that leathery?” Lambert was giving him a look as he chopped carrots.
“Something like that,” Geralt agreed. “I can chop things.” He was handed a few onions and set to work. “Making for a few days?”
“Yup.”
“Maybe we should -” Lambert’s knife was flicked and landed between his fingers. “Shut up and cut onions.”
“Yup.”
They were quiet and it felt so quiet, but then eventually it was a comfortable quiet, a rhythm falling over them as they worked. Once they were done in the kitchen, they moved things around in the main hall, changed the layout to suit using a smaller section of the keep, to fit with it just being the two of them. They gathered a few more things for the loft and then ate in the kitchen. Geralt liked that best, eating in the kitchen over the large dining table that always reminded him of how once it used to be full. “It is good,” Geralt said.
Lambert looked ready to say something cutting but he caught it. “Thanks. Sometimes when a village can’t pay in coin, I take trade. Have had some good cooking lessons.”
“A good idea.” Geralt blinked. “I just sort of accepted it when they had no coin, right thing to do and all that.”
“Yeah, well you are a fucking idiot. Cat school kill people when they don’t have the coin, you go all noble and fucking starve or have shit armor. I trade for lessons, for goods and oh look, I look the least shitty when I get home in the winter.”
“You are the clever one.”
“Damn fucking right.” Lambert paused, “wait that sounded sincere.”
“It was,” Geralt shrugged. “Eskel is smart, Vesemir wise, I am empathetic, and you are clever.” He assumed he was empathetic, Jaskier said it a fair bit.
“Well, sure. Fine.” Lambert went to the cupboard and pulled down a bottle of mead. “Drink and some cards?”
“Yes.” Geralt knew that he was better than Lambert at cards, and sure enough he won two hands out of three and they played for hours, two bottles drunk. Lambert started to clean up the kitchen and Geralt tried to help but he was hit with a towel, something about he’d fuck up Lambert’s rhythm and if it was to be his kitchen all winter he was putting things where he wanted them. Instead Geralt heated some water and brought it to the bath in the corner behind the screen. It wasn’t the biggest tub in the keep but that would involve work getting the other baths going and he wasn’t expanding that energy. This would do for the two of them that winter. He soaked in the water, and smiled when Lambert came over, added a bit more hot water.
“You being nice, is very weird.”
“I was nice enough to you end of last winter,” Lambert replied, and disappeared.
Geralt listened as Lambert’s footsteps climbed up to the tower. Last winter at the end of the season they had been drinking, what they had assumed would be the last time before they started on the path, and Geralt and Lambert had drunkenly fallen in bed together. Rutted until they had come and passed out. The next morning Lambert had been gone. Geralt had figured it had been the wine and almost forgotten the whole thing. But Lambert clearly hadn’t.
Geralt stepped out of the tub, and he should deal with the water, but he wanted to talk to Lambert. He’d deal with it come morning. He went up to the loft and Lambert was sitting up on the bed he had made them to share, and really Geralt should have figured that out. Drafts his ass. Jaskier would be ashamed that he hadn’t noticed the ploy for what it likely was. He sat next to Lambert. “Hello.”
“Did you drown down there?” Lambert frowned at him. “We said hello a few days ago.”
“I know that. I am saying hello.”
“Now three, what the fuck?”
“You are the clever one,” Geralt said. “We are fully stocked. Why did Vesemir go down for supplies?”
“How the fuck should I know what goes on in the old man’s head?”
“Because I will bet half my monster deck, you put the thought in his head.” Geralt watched the fire as well, because he had a feeling that if he looked at Lambert the man would bolt; all the way down the mountain even though the pass was impossible to travel right now. “Did you?” There was a shrug. “You wanted a few days alone with me.” Another shrug. “Why?”
“Because I missed your pretty face, and wanted you to ravish me like a maid in one of your bard’s idiotic songs. And for us to declare passionate love for each other, that has gone on for decades, hidden deep within our hearts, only to come forth now.” The words were biting, harsh. And Geralt realized, utterly true. He reached out and threaded his fingers through Lambert’s. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Holding your hand.”
“Why?”
“It is what sweethearts in villages do,” Geralt replied.
“You are an idiot.”
“For holding your hand?”
“You made it so we are holding dominant hands. If we were attacked it would make us a hair slower.” Lambert let go and stood. “Switch sides.” Geralt didn’t laugh as he shuffled to the other side of the pallet. Lambert sat and joined there fingers. “Still weird, but safer.”
They stared at the fire. “What do we do now?” Geralt asked after a good bit of time had passed.
“How the fuck should I know?” Lambert shrugged a bit. “Have the whole winter to figure it out though, right?”
Geralt nodded. “We do.” He squeezed and Lambert squeezed back. Eventually though their hands got sweaty and it was uncomfortable. “How do people do this for long periods of time?” He pulled his hand away and wiped it on the bed.
“Right? It proves most people are idiots if they think that is the height of romance, holding hands. Blow jobs, now that is the height of romance.” Lambert grinned at him and wiggled his brows. “Want to get romantic?”
Geralt laughed and pulled Lambert in for a kiss. “Let’s be incredibly romantic,” he said breathless when they pulled apart. “Be romantic all winter with you, Lambert.”
“See sometimes you can be clever too,” Lambert pressed him back, and Geralt let himself fall. He looked up at Lambert, bathed in shadows from the fire. “I’m going to be romantic on your ass for decades, Geralt.”
“That sounded more filthy that you meant it,” Geralt teased but then Lambert was working his way down Geralt’s body. “Or exactly as filthy as you meant.”
Geralt still thought when Eskel and Vesemir arrived they’d find two dead witchers, but the cause of death was now very different in his mind, and very much worth it. A romantic winter would be an excellent way to go out.