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His elbows on the upper balcony’s balustrade, Lambert watched Vica in the Kaer's yard. She was taking care of the goats, Eskel keeping her company. Using his sharpened senses Lambert listened to their conversation.
“One time I took Lil’ Bleater to the lake, nice grass and herbs there, y’know? So, he managed to track down some drowners and he wasn’t afraid. Like, not at all. That crazy goat approached those ugly bastards, utterly unimpressed and, I kid you not, started eating like two feet away from them. I tell you, fighting a bunch of ugly drowners while taking heed of not killing your goat is interesting to say the least. ”
“Some of your boldness rubbing off on him, hm?”
Lambert heard them laugh and sighed. It felt strange having her here. He had never really liked the Kaer to put it mildly, too many horrible memories, too many nightmares, too many dead boys during the Trials. And on top of that the appaling cold in the winter. But now, with Vica here, feeding the goats, chatting with the other witchers and reading him stories in the evening, the place didn’t seem that horrible anymore.
Being deep in thought he didn’t notice Vesemir’s steps in time to leave the balcony and avoid a conversation with him. The old witcher stood right beside him and handed him a mug. Lambert eyed it suspiciously.
“Wine. From Toussaint. Quite savoury, Geralt has a good taste.”
“In wine? Maybe. In women? Definitely not.” Lambert grumbled before taking a sip.
“Unlike you?” A simple question that made Lambert choke on the, in fact quite delicious, wine.
“What?”
Vesemir nodded into Vica’s direction. “Never thought you’d go for a girl like her.”
Lambert shrugged. “I didn’t. Not my type at all.”
When Vesemir tried to look him in the eye, Lambert dropped his gaze.
“But she’s here regardless.”
Lambert nodded, taking another deep sip. He strongly hoped that Vesemir wouldn’t want to start a profound conversation on the concept of love or some other nonsense, but knowing his old mentor he felt certain that exactly this was going to happen. And he turned out to be right.
“So what is it between her and you?”
“Vesemir, really? Why can’t you just go? There are beams to mend.”
“This was your job, young man. But instead of working you’re here watching that young lady with puppy eyes.”
Lambert pressed his fingers around his goblet to keep himself from shouting at the old witcher. “She isn't a lady. And I DON'T have puppy eyes.” He decided to leave before his anger got the better of him and he’d do something he might later regret, like throwing Vesemir over the balustrade.
---
In the evening, well after dinner, Vica and Geralt were sitting on an old bearskin in front of the crackling fire, playing Gwent. From what Lambert could see and hear, the pup did quite well.
Eskel was brewing potions at the other end of the room, so it was just him and Vesemir. Again. To avoid any stupid conversation with the old man, Lambert had put his feet on the table and was polishing his silver sword. High-class workmanship from Mahakam, it would be a crime not to take care of it properly.
“Some wine?”
Lambert shot his mentor a sharp gaze over the edge of his sword. “That’s the second time today you ask me that. Since when do you encourage drinking?”
“As I’ve told you before, it’s an excellent vintage. And there’s no sin in cherishing a good drop of wine.”
For once, Lambert had to agree with him. He put sword and cloth aside, took his feet of the table and took the mug Vesemir had brought.
“Guess Geralt won’t be too fond of the fact that we drink all of his wine.”
Vesemir shook his head. “He brought about six bottles.”
“Maybe I should go to Toussaint come the spring.” Lambert took another gulp. “Nice climate, nice wine, would make for an enjoyable time.”
“Will you take Vica with you?”
“Irritating, that’s what you are.” Lambert emptied his mug and slammed it on the table. Without a word Vesemir filled it again. He finally seemed to let go of the matter that was none of his fucking business.
Good for him. And good for the interior of the Kaer.
It wasn’t long before they had emptied the bottle.
“What about I get some really good stuff?” Lambert asked. Without waiting for Vesemir to answer he stood up and made his way to the kitchen, passing Geralt and Vica. “The great Butcher of Blaviken loses against a girl. Dandelion will hear about that. And shortly after the whole world will know about your shame.”
Geralt darted him a disparaging glance. “There’s no shame in losing against a girl that’s ten times as clever as you.”
“Thank you, Geralt”, Vica smiled before she eyed Lambert. “Are you drunk?”
“Not yet, but I’ll see to that, pup. Drunk is the only state in which I can endure Vesemir’s company.”
He cracked her a short smile before he continued his mission to get more alcohol.
“There.” With a loud thud he put two bottles in front of Vesemir. “Zerrikanian spirit, damn strong, damn good.”
The old witcher poured them both a rather big shot of the liquor.
After two more rounds Lambert started feeling a little dizzy, a sentiment he was used to, but there was another emotion flaring up underneath. An emotion that grew stronger as he looked over at Vica. The Gwent session was apparently over, now she listened eagerly to Geralt telling one of his stories. Her eyes wide with curiousness she asked for more details.
A little smile curled his lips.
“For a girl that is not your type at all she does some strange things to you.” Vesemir stated drily.
He tried to come up with a sarcastic response, but his current state and his thoughts of Vica made that pretty difficult. He sighed, resigning. “Fuck it, Vesemir, she does. And you’re very well aware of this. So why the hell are we talking about that?”
“Because you should come to terms with your emotions. I’m an old man, I know what your looks mean. But this lovely and smart young lady over there? She deserves someone who is at least willing to show her his feelings.”
“I show her my feelings every single night.”
Vesemir sighed. “Is that everything there is between the both of you?”
Lambert shrugged. The alcohol did funny things to him, for example making him talk when he actually wanted to punch Vesemir in the face.
“She is… important, I guess. Somehow. To me. I mean, look at her. She’s nothing but endearing. She’s the complete opposite of me. And yet… she decided to put up with me. I don’t know why and I probably don’t want to. I just want her to be by my side, y’know? When Vica’s around, things are different. Less horrible, easier to bear. Even being a witcher isn’t as abominable anymore because it means that I can tell her stories that make her happy. And that’s what she deserves, I guess.”
He didn’t know where the words had come from, but he regretted every single one as soon as it had left his lips. Devil take it, he sounded like one of the lovelorn poetry students from Oxenfurt he despised so much. Vesemir would probably bring this topic up as long as he would live, teasing Lambert every time they’d meet. But instead, the older witcher just nodded.
“She deserves better, yes. But she wants you. And no matter how much you deny it, you want her, too. So, it’s quite easy, really. She does her best to make that strange thing between the two of you work. The least you can do is trying to show her that she matters to you.”
Lambert paused for a moment. “They have striped horses in Zerrikania. Vica is dying to see them in real life.”
“Zerrikania then? You mentioned Toussaint before.”
“If I’d take her to Toussaint we most likely wouldn’t come back. And then there’d be nobody here to irritate you.”
Vesemir smiled. “That’d be a pity indeed.”