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"Remember last winter when the old man shouted at you because he nearly tripped over the sleeping bag you had thrown on the stairs?“ Geralt grinned as he recalled the incident.
Lambert slammed his tankard on the table and snorted. "Old fuck could've used his eyes for a change. Bet he wouldn't have shouted at you or Eskel. Always liked you better than me.“
Vica, sitting cross-legged on the old bear skin in front of the fireplace, looked up from the book about the flora of the blue mountains Vesemir had given her the other day and watched Lambert. His expression and the fact that he had nearly spat out the words were reasons enough to be careful. She sighed. It was always the same. One bottle of Nilfgaardian Vodka (or half a bottle of Mahakam Spirit, whichever the witchers preferred on the respective evening) and Lambert's mood changed. Usually not for the better.
"Rubbish, Lambert, and you know it.“ Eskel tried to talk some sense into his brother, but as usual to no avail. Lambert didn't want to be reasonable when he was drunk. To be honest he barely wanted to be reasonable when he was sober, Vica pondered. With another sigh, she shut her book. The local fungus species would have to wait. She got up and walked over to the table, where Eskel gave her his seat next to Lambert – and an apologizing smile.
Without another word he went over to the kitchen. When he came back and Vica had taken her place, gently stroking Lambert's hand with her index finger, Eskel placed a tankard in front of her. "Goat milk. Your favorite, right?“
Vica smiled. "Thank you, Eskel.“
Lambert snorted and placed his arm around Vica, glaring at Eskel. "Yes, dear dear Eskel is such a sweetheart. Always been Vesemir's favourite. Even over pretty boy Geralt.“
Eskel sighed and exchanged a meaningful look with Geralt.
Before Vica could drink, Lambert grabbed the tankard from her hand and banged it on the table, then he stroked some drops of spilled milk from her face. He was too drunk to even care about his most important rule, stating that there was no tenderness in him. This was most interesting. Vica grinned. Why not using that chance? She placed a hand on his cheek, kissed him and counted. Five seconds before he pulled away, Vica noticed contentedly.
Eskel and Geralt exchanged another meaningful look.
Lambert got up in a way that was best described as awkward and headed to the kitchen. Some moments and several noises of breaking dishes later, he returned, another tankard in his hand.
"This, my dear Eskel,“ he stated with a smirk, "is her favourite drink. She prefers apple juice over goat milk.“ The smirk turned triumphant. "As she prefers me over you.“ When he finally sat down, he put his arm possessively around her, a gesture she would have reprimanded any other man for. The reason she didn't with Lambert was that she didn't want to heat up his explosive mood any further. And, truth be told, she enjoyed his rather peculiar display of affection.
Eskel watched them and winked at Vica. "I'm sorry, Vica. Luckily Lambert's there to make sure you're perfectly happy.“
She winked back while Lambert took a sip from his own tankard.
Geralt raised an eyebrow while crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Poetic justice, Lambert. Since Vesemir treated you ever so horribly, you definitely deserve someone making up for this.“
This time it was Vica who exchanged a meaningful look with Geralt.
Suddenly Lambert started fondling with her fingers. "Pup,“ he shook his head, "this is a serious matter! Old fuck always preferred anyone else in this hellhole here over me.“
"I'm sure that...“ she was stopped by both Eskel's and Geralt's warning looks and Lambert's hand squeezing hers.
"Listen, you can't comprehend the cruelty of the real world, 'cause you're coming from a privileged family and you're,“ he paused to gaze at her, "well, not too ugly.“ He shrugged. "And cute. Not in a complimenting way, y'know, just...like the pup you are. And therefore nobody ever would treat you the way Vesemir did me.“
Well, this took an interesting turn. How much exactly did he drink? Vica suspected that if they talked any longer, he'd sing her a ballad at the end of the night.
Lambert turned his head and stared at Eskel and Geralt, who returned the look, both trying their best to appear perfectly innocent. He snorted. "Pup, listen. I've never been allowed to do anything I wanted. Not once.“ He looked at her, fuming. "Did I ever tell you the story of how I wasn't even allowed to choose my name?“
Geralt groaned. "Always harping on the same string.“
Eskel nodded, then cleared his throat. "Ah, guess I've heard Scorpion. Back in a minute.“ He left the Great Hall before anybody could respond. Vica didn't have the heightened hearing of a witcher but she was dead sure that Eskel's mount hadn't whinnied.
Geralt gave her an apologetic smile. "I'll have a look at Roach. Suspect I've tied her too near to Scorpion. Y'know, she's a real lady, needs her space and all.“ Five seconds later, Vica and Lambert sat alone in the Great Hall.
She tenderly stroked his arm. "I think, Lambert is a nice name. Suits you perfectly.“
He grimaced. "I'm talking about my surname, pup.“
Vica took a sip of apple juice and eyed him over her tankard. "You've a surname?“
Lambert vigorously shook his head. "Precisely not.“
"I'm afraid I don't understand.“
He snorted. "Nobody ever does.“ After a deep slug of Vodka he looked at her. Vica noticed that by now he had problems focussing his vision. For a short moment she pondered if she should make a field study concerning the effects of alcohol on witchers. Sober Lambert would never give his consent to this idea, but sober Lambert wouldn't be involved in said study. She would keep that idea in mind. But for now she tried to put on an innocent face to get him to talk.
And eventually, after another gulp of Vodka and with Vica's hand resting on his thigh, he talked.
"When I was finally old enough to leave this abyss here, Vesemir held a speech concerning my witcher duties to the good people of the Northern Kingdoms. It was a long talk about boring topics in Vesemir's even more boring voice.“ Another gulp of Vodka and he took her hand. "At the end he said that I should choose a surname for myself. It would be easier for the people to trust me if they knew how to approach me properly. I thought he wanted to shit me but he was perfectly serious. And suddenly I was…,“ his gaze wandered around the Great Hall, "nearly content. I mean, for the first time in my life I was allowed to make a choice all of my own.“
Vica closed the gap between them, leaned her head on his shoulder and caressed his index finger with her thumb. She knew that he liked physical closeness, even if being drunk was the only state where he was able to admit that openly.
"Couldn't come up with a nice name by myself, since I hadn't seen any of the world at that point. Except for the village I was born and the Kaer. So the old man suggested drawing a stick. He still had the ones he had offered the older witchers.“ He snorted. "Y'know which name I drew?“
Vica shook her head.
"Rivia.“
She looked up. "Like Geralt?“
He emptied his tankard and banged it on the table. "Exactly like Geralt,“ he snarled, „didn't know it, of course, we don't address each other with our fake surnames and since I hadn't left the Kaer yet I didn't know the stories about him. So, I liked the name. "Lambert of Rivia“. And why not? Anyway, I was almost happy, for like, three seconds. Then Vesemir apologized and told me that he had forgotten to remove that particular stick before.“
Vica could imagine the scene in the brightest colours. Poor Vesemir. She barely dared to ask how the story continued, so she stroked his index finger a little tighter and tried to suppress a laughter.
"Of course he hadn't forgotten!“ Lambert fumed. "He did that on purpose, pup! He used every single opportunity to bother me! Fucking jerk he is!“
Pulling herself together got harder by the minute. Just so that Lambert couldn't see her grin, Vica took a sip from her tankard and cleared her throat afterwards. "Did you choose another surname?“
He shot her a deadly glance, sprang to his feet and banged his fist on the table. Vica made a mental note that even the significant amount of alcohol he had consumed this evening didn't affect his reflexes.
"Of course not, pup! I WANTED that name and I didn't get it! Like I never get anything I want. I told Vesemir to fuck off and left the Kaer without a surname.“
She looked up to him and tried to smile innocently, she really did. But when she saw him wandering around the Hall like a tiger in his cage, still upset about this little affair that had taken place at least fifty years ago, she couldn't be serious any longer. Before she bursted out laughing she coughed, went to Lambert and kissed him on the tip of his nose. Then, she excused herself. But Lambert didn't seem to notice. He was too busy pitying himself.
Vica went to the stables. There she found Scorpion and Roach, a decent distance between them, and Geralt and Eskel sitting in a corner playing Gwent. Vica couldn't suppress her laughter any longer. While Geralt nodded and grinned, Eskel moved a little and smiled. "He told you his woeful tale?“
She sat down beside him, still laughing. All she could manage was a weak nod.
Geralt put his cards aside and handed her the bottle of wine he and Eskel shared. "Here's to you for putting up with his bullshit.“
When Vica finally could breathe again, tears of laughter streaming down her cheeks, she raised the bottle. "No. Here's to poor Lambert and the beautiful country of Rivia.“