Chapter Text
When Geralt had agreed to host the family Christmas at his house this year, he made sure to prepare for disaster. He had extra food, extra gifts, and he’d called everyone multiple times so nobody could claim they didn’t know where they needed to be and when. So of course the only person who arrived on time was Vesemir.
“Merry Christmas, Wolf.” His father pulled him in for a hug. “The house looks wonderful.”
“Thank you! I wish I could take credit, but almost all of this is Ciri’s doing. She spent all day yesterday ordering Yen and I around, telling us where to hang everything.”
“It’s a gorgeous tree,” Vesemir said, remarking on the giant Christmas tree which took up most of the living room.
“We went and cut it down last week. Ciri insisted on getting one that reached all the way up to the ceiling.”
“Where is that little troublemaker?” Vesemir asked. “I feel like I haven’t seen her in ages.”
“She’s in the kitchen with Yennefer,” Geralt answered, “putting the finishing touches on some Christmas cookies.”
Ciri was overjoyed to see her grandfather, and she roped him and Geralt into decorating cookies with her and Yennefer while they waited for everyone else to arrive.
Nearly another whole hour passed before another knock came at the door.
This time Geralt opened it to reveal Eskel and Lambert, both soaked to the skin and shivering. There was a cut on Lambert’s forehead which was dripping blood down the side of his face, and Eskel was cradling what appeared to be an injured hand.
“You’re late,” Geralt said, unimpressed, letting them into the entryway. “You had better not get mud on the rug
“What the hell have you two been doing?” Yennefer made her way over to the two of them, clearly displeased. “Are you aware it’s Christmas Eve, and you were supposed to be here an hour ago? Or are you late on purpose?”
Geralt could tell she had many more choice words for the two of them, but none she was willing to say in front of her daughter.
“We were out on a contract,” Eskel explained. “It went pretty well actually, all things considered.”
The multitude of cuts and bruises might say otherwise.
“Then why are you bleeding on the rug?” Geralt asked, shooing them into the kitchen where the floors could be more easily cleaned.
“Nobody’s perfect,” Lambert snapped, teeth chattering. “Now are you going to help, or are you just going to keep scolding us?”
“Sit down. I’ll get the first aid kit,” Geralt instructed. “What were you doing taking a contract on Christmas Eve?” he asked. He wasn’t pleased that they’d risked missing the family holiday just to take a job.
“Holiday rates are unparalleled,” Lambert told him. “People are willing to pay anything for a merry Christmas.”
“At the cost of your own celebration?” Yennefer asked, running a clean rag under warm water and then handing it to Eskel so he could dab at his bleeding split lip.
“I haven’t done anything to hurt my Christmas,” Lambert objected. “All I need is a needle and thread. I’ll stitch up this cut, and then I’ll be good as new.”
Geralt opened up his first aid kit, searching for his antiseptic and sterile needle.
“Well, a needle and thread and a hot shower,” Lambert corrected himself. “Here,” he held out his hand for the needle. “Give me that.”
Geralt held it up where he couldn’t reach. “No way. You’re awful at stitches; you’ll just make it worse. I’ll do it.” He started cleaning the cut while Yennefer helped Eskel tape up what he assumed was two broken fingers.
“So you two couldn’t decide who got custody for Christmas?” Lambert asked as Geralt worked on his neat line of stitches. Ciri had just left the kitchen to go show Vesemir something in her room, and as soon as she was gone, Lambert pounced on the opportunity to make this jab.
Geralt pulled the thread through the stitch he’d just started a bit more aggressively than he needed to. “We aren’t separated, you ass,” he snapped.
“Ow! What the fuck?”
“Shut up Lambert, or I’ll leave these half finished.”
There was blood dripping into his eye now, but that didn’t keep him from glaring up at Geralt.
“I never asked you to do them,” he spat back.
“But if I didn’t, we’d end up having to take you to the emergency room, and I figured you didn’t want to be responsible for ruining Christmas.”
“Who said anything about ruining Christmas? What the hell are you accusing me of?”
“I didn’t accuse you of anything, but you know now that you mention it.” Geralt tied off the last stitch and took a step back, anticipating a fight.
Just as he expected, Lambert stood to face him. His cheeks were bright red from cold, giving the appearance that he was quite literally fuming.
“I’m sorry I can’t just fuck off and play farmer whenever I don’t want to work. Some of us don’t have the luxury of turning down jobs. I’m not going to starve on December 26th just so you can have a merry Christmas.”
He was a few inches taller than Geralt, and he was using every bit of height advantage he had as he squared up with his older brother.
“I have a child to look after now. You can’t even imagine what that’s like. And I’m not worried about my Christmas, I’m worried about hers. Sorry I was naive enough to think you would be too.”
Lambert may not always get along with Geralt, but he was fond of Ciri. Geralt hoped this love for her would be enough to make this statement sting.
It seemed to work a bit too well. Lambert took a swing at Geralt, clearly aiming to break his nose, but Geralt ducked back at the last minute and Lambert’s fist just barely grazed his cheekbone. It still hurt, but it drew no blood.
“I’ll tear those stitches right back out.” He lunged forward, shoving Lambert back. He lost his balance on the wet floor, and while he didn’t fall, Eskel was able to take the opportunity to get between them.
“What the hell is going on in here?” Vesemir entered the kitchen to find Eskel trying his best to restrain Lambert with his good hand, and Yennefer with a cautious hand on Geralt’s shoulder.
“He went and took a contract on Christmas, and now he’s going to use his injuries as an excuse to be bitter all night.”
Vesemir looked to Lambert, and the expression on his face threw Geralt back to his childhood, reminding him how immature they were both being. He refused to back down though. All he wanted was a good holiday for Ciri. Maybe this wasn’t helping, but he couldn’t bear the thought of dealing with Lambert’s snide comments, especially since he’d already derailed the evening by showing up late and injured.
“He’s attacking me for doing my fucking job. It isn’t my fault he doesn’t care about being a Witcher anymore.”
That simply wasn’t true, but he knew saying so right now would only add fuel to the flames. Vesemir seemed to sense this as well, and decided the best course of action was to—just as he had when they were children—split them up and hope they cooled off on their own.
“Lambert, go take a shower. And come back with a better attitude.”
He stomped out of the room before Vesemir finished speaking, but before he had the chance to address Geralt, they were interrupted by a knock at the door.
“I’ll get it,” Geralt grumbled, unhappy with how Eskel and Yennefer were staring at them. He knew exactly who was at the door, and he was eager to let him in. If they had any chance of turning their night around, this was it.