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Jaskier had spent the entire day hidden away in the library at Kaer Morhen. He’d only gone in for one book but he’d ended up getting entirely distracted, one book leading to another. So, when Geralt hauled him over his shoulder and down to the dining room, he complained all the way. Although, he had enjoyed the rather splendid view of his witcher’s arse. It was glorious and so very round. He’d been delighted to learn that bubble butts were a commodity found in all the witchers. It had almost been too much for the poor bard.
But the point is, he hadn’t had time to return to his room before dinner. He usually preferred to change his clothes, and grab his lute so he could entertain his hosts after they’d finished eating. So now he was frantically searching his room. Food had been devoured and drinks were flowing nicely, and there was no sign of his precious lute. He was ready to pull his hair out, on the verge of tears. He’d had the lute since he’d met Geralt and no other instrument could hold a candle. She was divine, the sounds Jaskier could pull from her were simply exquisite. He whined helplessly and fell to the floor. He was sure that he’d left her in his room. It was a safe place, far away from any sneaky witchers.
So where the fuck was his lute?
“Geralt!!!” he yelled as loudly as he could, barely holding back the tears that threatened to fall. He listened carefully for a moment, hearing no sign of his witcher, he screamed again.
“What the fuck Jaskier?” Geralt growled as the door flew open, startling Jaskier and he fell back on his arse.
“I can’t find her,” he pouted up at the witcher.
“Who?”
Jaskier scoffed. “My lute! She was right here!” Geralt’s frown melted away and was replaced by a smug smirk that Jaskier really didn’t like. He narrowed his eyes at the witcher, pointing at him as he spoke. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? Geralt, what’s going on!?”
Geralt shrugged. “Lambert borrowed her… it.”
Jaskier definitely did not shriek, it was bad for his vocal cords. “Lam.. borrowed… Geralt?!”
“Jaskier, it’s fine.”
“Oh ho ho, no! Do not talk to me that! I’m not a child!” He squeaked, scrambling to his feet and pushing past Geralt roughly as he ran from the room. “I cannot believe you let him! Geralt!”
“Jaskier—”
“Don’t you fucking dare ‘Jaskier’ me!” Jaskier snapped, walking as fast as he could through the long cold corridors of the keep. Geralt trailed after him but made no move to stop him.
Good.
The bastard had no right!
“Lambert, you arse!!” he yelled as he stormed through the last stretch of corridors, not registering the soft lute music that was echoing through the halls, too caught up in his own rage.
He flung the doors open and… froze.
Lambert was bundled up in Vesemir’s usual chair, Jaskier’s darling lute in his lap. He had evidently been watching the flames dancing in the hearth but golden eyes had flashed up to meet Jaskier’s gaze. Lambert raised an eyebrow in a clear challenge.
Jaskier stammered wordlessly, pointing at the witcher who was cradling his precious instrument… and playing her perfectly?
“Bard?”
“You… you can play?!” Jaskier stuttered. He had imagined his poor instrument in pieces, splintered under Lambert’s calloused and scarred hands. His best case scenario was maybe the pegs had been pulled out and the strings unravelled.
This… this hadn’t even occurred to him. It was ludicrous.
“Yes?” Lambert said slowly, clearly enjoying Jaskier’s flustered confusion.
“But… but…??”
“Problem, bard?”
Jaskier whined, and turned round to hug Geralt, pressing his face against his friend’s chest and Geralt’s strong arms wrapped around him.