Chapter Text
Lambert’s nervous, at first, about traveling with Geralt’s bard. He doesn’t fully believe, still, that a human would ever choose to walk beside a witcher as if he were any other man. He still doesn’t fully trust that Jaskier is real. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Still, it’s a novelty and a delight to travel beside someone who smells only of excitement and contentment to be in Lambert’s presence. And Geralt didn’t exaggerate the bard’s touchiness. Lambert had half-thought that the physical affection would be limited only to his brother, but to his delight, Jaskier seems just as keen on touching him, and Lambert delights in the affection offered so freely, even if the foreignness of it makes his skin rise in goosebumps at first.
He’s found himself in the company of the bard on this occasion after he separated from Geralt when a hunt took the witcher in one direction and a competition took the bard in the other. It had been a happy accident that they’d met on the road, Lambert picking up Jaskier’s scent, familiar from years of smelling it on Geralt even before he actually met the man himself, and hurrying on faster to catch up.
Jaskier had been delighted at the chance to travel with Lambert, jumping at him in a hug as if it had been years since they’d parted in spring rather than months. The rest of their journey had been spent happily enough, Jaskier chattering away while slowly and stealthily offloading his heavier baggage on Lambert, who rolled his eyes and grumbled about it on principle but who still accepted the extra load. They’d made it to this town in the early afternoon, splitting a room for the night. Lambert set out to check the notice board while Jaskier plopped down on the floor, declaring that he simply could not move another step or he would die, simply die. Lambert rolled his eyes at the dramatics and left him to revive in his own time.
Jaskier has migrated his lounging in Lambert’s absence and is on the bed, picking out a half-formed melody on his lute, when Lambert returns to the room.
“Any luck?” he asks, meeting Lambert’s eyes even as his fingers pluck away idly at the strings of his instrument.
“Manticore,” Lambert answers and sees the bard’s eyes light up.
“Oh goodie! When do we leave?”
“We are not leaving. It’s way too dangerous for a human. You’re staying here.”
“Dear witcher,” Jaskier says, cajoling. “Do you think I haven’t gone on a manticore hunt before? After this many years of traveling with Geralt?”
That’s...a surprise. Geralt might not always be the best at admitting how he feels, especially about the bard, but Lambert can’t quite believe that Geralt would be lax enough to take Jaskier on a hunt for something as dangerous as a manticore, surely? Lambert sniffs the air subtly, trying to detect any deception. There is no scent of any sort of hesitation or nervousness that usually accompanies a lie from a human, and he doesn’t know the bard well yet, but he can’t spot any of the usual tells. And well, maybe? The human has traveled with Geralt for years, surely Geralt knows his weaknesses and limits by now?
“Geralt really lets you go on manticore hunts?” Lambert has to ask again, still trying to wrap his mind around the concept of this delicate-looking human around a manticore.
“Why wouldn’t he? How else am I to write songs to gain him glory and coin!”
Well, alright then. Lambert waits for dusk to fall and heads out into the forest, Jaskier trailing after him, practically buzzing with excitement. The level of his apparent anticipation confuses Lambert, because surely he can’t still be this excited about a monster he’s gotten to see vanquished before? But then again maybe he can? The bard seems full of joy for every aspect of life, so perhaps he gets this way before each hunt. Lambert had tossed him an apple before at dinner, and the bard had lit up like he’d been offered the secret to eternal life. Perhaps he’s just enthusiastic about everything.
Lambert tracks the manticore by smell, following the acrid scent of vinegar and rot until it leads him to a cave littered with bits of animal carcass at the mouth. He hopes it’s all animal, at least. He’d rather not have to deliver bits of human back to the settlement if he can avoid it.
He waves a hand to attract the bard’s attention. It takes a second before he succeeds, which puzzles Lambert. Shouldn’t Jaskier be used to watching for nonverbal directions from Geralt? The fact that the bard waves back as though Lambert is just greeting him does not do much for his confidence in what’s about to happen. Maybe Geralt has a different system? Lambert wishes he would have asked before and resolves to do so right after. If the bard is going to be accompanying him on hunts, too, he should know the system Geralt uses.
He points to where the bard is standing, jabbing his finger towards the ground to indicate Stay here. Jaskier tilts his head rather like a puppy hearing a command for a trick it doesn’t recognize. Lambert jabs with more force, as if that will make the idea clearer. Jaskier shrugs, apparently coming to some sort of interpretation, and plops down on the ground, sitting with his legs crossed, which is...that’s...that’s not...
Lambert huffs and walks back to his side, hauling Jaskier to his feet, which makes the bard’s face crinkle in confusion.
“Wha-” he starts to whisper, trying to be quiet, but Lambert cuts him off, slapping his hand over his mouth and freezing to listen. He hears the manticore shift slightly in its cave at the sound of a human close by. For a tense second, Lambert thinks it might charge. Luckily, coming at dusk has had its advantages as Lambert hoped. The beast will be tired and ready for sleep now, so it merely shifts a bit more before going quiet again.
Lambert exhales, relieved, then turns back to the bard, who is watching him alertly but with no apparent concern about what almost happened. Shouldn’t he know better than to talk around a manticore? Geralt’s indulgent with him, sure, but he can’t have let him talk on past hunts, right? Maybe he just doesn’t know how close they are? That must be it.
Lambert points to the cave and then puts his hands on either side of his face, curling his pointer fingers like manticore mandibles. Jaskier’s eyes alight with recognition, and he nods. Well then. Perhaps that’s Geralt’s signal for “there’s a fucking manticore in there, so this is quiet time now”? Lambert continues his impromptu signing, jabbing a thumb towards himself and then miming stabbing with a sword. Jaskier nods his head vigorously, apparently trying to convey “you can do it!” as if Lambert is looking for a pep talk here. Lambert chooses to disregard this and continues, pointing at Jaskier and then motioning him to stay as he did before. The bard looks confused again but starts to sit back down before Lambert catches his elbow and pulls him back upright.
That’s not! No! Why would Lambert want him to sit? Jaskier needs to be ready to run if he needs to. Lambert just doesn’t want him getting any closer. After a second of deliberation, he tries another way.
He uses his fingers to mime a person walking towards the cave, then slashes his arms and shakes his head to indicate “Do not do this!” He repeats it once more before Jaskier seems to get it, giving him a grin and two thumbs up. Fucking finally.
Lambert returns a thumbs up of his own, amused despite himself at the fact that bard still seems to be so excited, before he turns back to the cave, stalking out of the treeline. He stoops to grab a stone without breaking his stride, slinging it towards the bulk of the creature within the cave, drawing it out with an angry shriek that makes Lambert’s ears ache. He readjusts his grip on his blade just slightly, assuring he has a good grip before the monster is upon him.
Lambert ducks beneath a swing of the creature’s legs and rolls back to his feet to charge forward, seeking an opening to stab at the soft underbelly when it happens.
Jaskier, having lost sight of Lambert so unexpectedly, darts out of the treeline where he’d been observing, an anxious cry on his lips. The beast turns towards him immediately, drawn by the sound, and before Lambert can do anything, it charges towards him and raises a leg for a blow.
The bard freezes, a terror of the unknown in his eyes. In the half second he has to think, Lambert is thrown. Why is he freezing? He’s seen a manticore in a fight before, he should know to fucking move!
The bard does not move.
The blow catches him in the side, and he goes flying. Lambert is already in motion when it happens, drawing the creature’s attention before it can go for a second strike or employ its tail, but he still hears the horrible thunk of Jaskier hitting a tree, a cry of pain escaping him on impact.
With this sudden and very effective motivation, Lambert dispatches the manticore faster than he ever has before, driving his blade through the center of its head and wrenching it forward to bisect its brain. It goes down, twitching, and dies quickly, occasional shudders running through it.
Lambert barely spares it a glance before he’s on his knees next to Jaskier, running frantic hands over face and neck and chest and limbs. If Lambert has damaged Geralt’s bard, he’s a dead man. Geralt will kill him. He probably sensed this on the wind and is on his way here now. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Jaskier moans when Lambert presses slightly too hard on one side of his chest, where he suspects the bard has broken a rib or two from the creak he can hear in the bones.
“Ow, fucking ow.” Jaskier's eyes are squeezed shut, his face pinched with pain, and he’s taking shallow little breaths which Lambert’s pretty sure aren’t good for humans, even with the limitations of his personal experience with them.
“Why the fuck would you just stand there?!” Lambert says, his voice gruff with worry. He's barely resisting the urge to shake the bard in an attempt to knock some sense into him.
“It was so much bigger than I thought it was! The-the entries I’ve seen in the beastiaries describe it like it’s, like it’s...a horse!” He pauses, panting still from the pain. “How was I supposed to know? So I panicked a little. Be nice to me, I’m injured. I’m a victim.”
“How were you supposed to-what the fuck do you mean how were you supposed to know?! You’ve hunted them with Geralt before, that’s how the fuck you’re supposed to know!”
“Technically,” Jaskier says, and Lambert can pick up some nervousness starting to creep into his scent, “I never actually said I’ve hunted them with Geralt before.”
Lambert reels back like the bard just slapped him. What the fuck?
“Yes the fuck you did say you’ve hunted them with Geralt before! I would never have let you come along if you hadn’t!” Lambert reconsiders his moratorium on bard shaking.
“No, no, no!" Jaskier fidgets slightly before hissing with pain when it jostles his side. "I never actually said that. I may have been slightly vague and nudged you in the direction of that assumption, but I never actually said the words, ‘Yes, Geralt lets me go along on manticore hunts.’ You assumed that. That was your assumption.”
He attempts a cheeky little smile and even winks. Fucking winks.
Lambert’s going to kill him.
He’s going to kill Jaskier now so at least when Geralt murders Lambert later it will be justified.