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Milena wakes slowly. Her head hurts, her nose feels congested, and even the dim light makes her eyes itch. Also, she's...naked?!?
Undressed, in a strange room, and a strange bed - heaped with furs rather than blankets, but very comfortable all the same - and -
Oh no. Oh dear. That's a man. A strange man, wearing only a very old set of braies and a silver pendant, who was apparently trying to sneak out of bed?
"Milena? You alright? You smell..."
She yanks the furs up to her chest and summons what scraps of composure she can. Or failing that, Marta's haughty self confidence. "Who are you? What is this place?"
The man reels back as if slapped. "You - 'lena? Shit, did you catch that thing Merigold was talking about? Fuck. Um. Crap." He mutters under his breath for a minute, not in a language she understands, although the tone is both worried and frustrated. "Okay. So. I'm just gonna - your clothes are in that chest, take whatever, I'll be in the other room, um, NO ONE will bother you until you're ready, I swear it, I'll just - " He stumbles out of the room, swearing to himself as he almost trips over another fur spread across the floor, and then Milena is alone.
In a strange man's room, in his bed, wearing no clothing, and no idea where she is. Marvelous.
Lambert paces in the sitting room. He wants to swear - hell, he wants to go run the walls and beat a dozen training dummies to splinters and also throw bombs in a lake - but that's Milena. She doesn't remember him, she doesn't remember anything, and she must be so confused and terrified and he can't make it worse for her but Melitele's tits, he barely knows what he's doing on a GOOD day, and THIS IS NOT A GOOD DAY -
His heart hasn't run this fast since the last time Milena disappeared, and he is NOT enjoying the comparison, so he stomps back and forth trying to cudgel his damn fool brain into something USEFUL...
Milena rises to explore the room, finding a thick robe by her side of the bed, and...it has wolves and roses embroidered on the sleeves. And his medallion had a snarling wolf on it. She snoops, and his clothes are embroidered with a mix of wolves and blades and brewing bottles, and always always roses, all in her own masterful stitches. Her clothes are much the same, minus the alchemy and with the knives more hidden. And she wears a medallion which is a smaller version of his, but aside from a few...fluids - not blood - she has no other sign of his claim on her.
No blood. No bruises. No pain.
Whatever they are to each other, he does not harm her, and goes out of his way for her comfort.
She opens a jewelry chest, and finds that it has more daggers than gems, and even the hair pieces often conceal sharp tips. Whoever this man is, he has no fear of arming her.
Milena considers carefully as she dresses, sliding a dagger into her pocket rather than brave the strange harness and arranging her hair carefully with the sharpened pins. When she opens the door, the man - so large and muscular and scarred - looks up at her from the hearth with the expression of a hunting dog who has been scolded and now begs for a kind word.
She can't bear to deny him. Milena walks to one of the chairs by the fire. One has knife sharpening tools and looks rather battered, while the other sits in better light and has a small basket piled with fabric beside it, so she sits there. She resolutely does not look at the basket - hers, perhaps?
The man rounds his shoulders and hunches, trying to look small. It's like a mastiff trying to be a lapcat, and she's warmed by the comparison. She spends a moment settling her skirts smoothly - the familiarity of her habits in her father's house are almost soothing, even when she is clearly so far from there - and lifts her chin.
"We are lovers, then?"
Lambert sighs as if punched. Damn, his rose doesn't waste any time, does she? And still as brave as ever. He loves her SO FUCKING MUCH.
"We - I - you." He stops. Curses internally. Breathes. Tries again. "About five years ago. We met in Redania - there was a treaty, it was a mess, anyway. Then your sister, Marta, and a bunch of other stuck-up noble bitches came to Kaer Morhen - d'you remember witchers? I'm a Wolf, one of Geralt's brothers, anyway - they all came to Kaer Morhen to try to court pretty boy. The. Uh. The white wolf, the warlord? Anyway. You came as your sister's lady's maid, or something, and you were the ONLY one who wasn't scared shi--uh, stiff. Of all the witchers. And me. We talked some, and when all the other ladies got their dumb asses thrown out, you decided to stay. You've been the cub's - er, that's Geralt's daughter, Ciri's basically a princess - lady in waiting since. And. Um. I courted you?"
That last is a question. He definitely should sound more confident, shouldn't he? Fuck, he's fucking this all up and she's going to run screaming and he can't even gods damn BLAME her...
Milena considers her - consort, perhaps? - carefully as she thinks. There is a witcher warlord in the north, she remembers that, and it doesn't surprise her that her eldest sister would wish to wed such a powerful man, or that Marta would insist that one of her sisters accompany her. Nor that Marta would apparently offend such men - if this man (she really must get his name) is anything like the others, then they are honest and kind and eager to help her, which...is nothing like her sister or Redania's court. But could, perhaps, be a place she would like to be.
Then she remembers the other part. "I'm a lady-in-waiting to an emperor's daughter? And you're his brother?"
The man winces. "Uh. Yes? But I promise it's not scary?"
Milena takes a deep breath. Okay. Okay. She can do this. She can. Just...navigate her way in a strange court which apparently already rejected her eldest sister, but welcomed her. "Please, sit. And - do forgive me - but I do not recall your name, kind sir."
He drops into the seat opposite her, still looking at her with those large, pleading eyes. Really, he ought to be much more frightening, with the scars and muscles and sharp features, but his concern is so obvious that she finds she wants to stroke his hair more than anything.
"Lambert. I'm Lambert of the Wolves. Er, there are seven schools of witchers, if you don't remember, and I'm a Wolf."
"I remember a bit. The man who conquered Kaedwen - he was also a wolf witcher?"
"Yeah, that's Geralt. He got pissed 'cause that rat bastard of a king was killing women left and right, just 'cause...uh...he wanted to, and you DON'T want the details, but Geralt called all the witchers together and then we dragged him out of his castle and killed him. And then the new king thought he had to obey us, it was a whole mess, but now Geralt's kind of accidentally ruling half the continent."
Half the continent. Milena is - allied to, somehow - the brother of the man who rules half the continent, and she -
"Wait, you said that I'm a lady-in-waiting to His Imperial Majesty's daughter?"
The ma - Lambert - winces again. Drat. "Yeah. Just call him Geralt, or White Wolf, he doesn't actually like titles, none of us do, much, uh. And. You're kind of. Ciri's only lady-in-waiting? She spends most of her time training, she doesn't need a lot, more a friend, and..." He trails off, watching her. "Shit. There's a lot."
"It does sound like quite a bit has happened."
"Yeah, it - wait! Sasha! Stay right there, I'm gonna grab - " The man leaps up and dashes out of the room, still wearing only his braies.
Well. What an interesting way to wake.
Milena spends the moments alone in Lord - not lord - Lambert's rooms looking around. There's armor on a stand, a pair of well-used swords, a large collection of knives scattered over almost every surface, a table in the corner with boxes and baskets of sewing notions, all neatly stored away, a dressmaker's dummy standing beside it that looks to be her size. The basket at her feet, when she lifts the lid, holds several projects in various states of completion, small compartments of needles and pins and scissors, and a wealth of brightly dyed thread and ribbon. She doesn't even recognize some of these colors, where did they come from?
The projects have all manner of designs on them, from lutes to more wolves, flowers, and knives, to cats playing with string and songbirds in flight - perhaps her friend Aleksander really is here?
Tucked into the side of - it must be her sewing basket - is a letter in Marika's hand. She writes of a court Milena doesn't recognize, a husband and infant Milena has never met, a new family that sounds strange yet welcoming...
What has happened?
The door bangs open again, and Lambert stomps in with several people behind him. They all look slightly damp and hastily dressed, and only one is familiar. "Lord Aleksander, do you know if my middle sister has married?"
Several of the people start, or curse. Their court masks are so terrible as to be useless - either the situation is so unprecedented that it has overridden all their instincts, or somehow no one bothers to conceal their feelings here.
"She has, actually." Aleksander sits in the chair opposite her, the one Lambert sat in before. "A very kind man in Temeria named Griffin. He recently became their king after the previous king...broke the treaty with the White Wolf and betrayed him, and you recommended Marika to help him navigate the reformed court. They seem quite happy together."
Betrayed the White Wolf. Betrayed him in such a way that it required a new king, a reformed court, and apparently a foreign queen, which -
"I recommended Marika to become queen?" That can't be right. Who is she, a foreign duke's third daughter, last and least of her sisters...
"And she was an excellent choice! Just exactly the person we needed." A brightly dressed man scoots between several other ladies - one of them distantly familiar, the other two rather young - "Jaskier, bard and Wolf's consort, formerly of Redania, and very pleased to make your acquaintance again, milady. Lambert mentioned that you'd forgotten quite a bit."
"I have indeed. Would one of you be so kind as to fill me in?"
The almost familiar woman nudges Jaskier out of the way. "Let's go down to Eskel's office. I have lists."
"Darling Livi, you have lists for everything."
"Well of course, how else would I keep track of you madmen?"
Milena lets the cluster of mostly strangers herd her out the door and down several flights of stairs. The last woman - really more of a young girl - stops Lambert with a hand on his arm. "Can you send Triss down to Uncle's office in a few minutes? And maybe let him and Dad know what's going on? It'll probably take a bit to talk to Milena, but - "
"Yeah, 'course, cub." His smile is soft and fond.
"...and maybe find some clothes, too."
Then Milena is around a corner, and when the girl catches up to them, she's carrying the sewing basket. "I thought you might like something to work on. You say it helps you think."
"That's very kind of you, and yes, I do like to sew." Milena isn't sure that she wants to try to work on any of the projects already started when she can't remember what she had planned to do with them, but there had been some plain ribbon and plenty of spare thread in there. She can start something new.
The room they lead her to is clearly a lord's office - it has a large map on the wall, several shelves of books, cases of chests, each with a different nation's crest, two separate desks set facing each other with a larger table and chairs off to the side. Livi - that must be a nickname - goes to one of the shelves and pulls down one of the books, flipping through it. Jaskier and Aleksander escort Milena to a seat and compete to hold her chair. Even Marta's suitors aren't this solicitous.
"Right!" Livi grins, sharp and triumphant. "Before I start, there've been a few people - mostly witchers, I think you're the first human - in the keep who've lost some of their memories, and they do come back, though it may take a few days, but before we go over what you've lost, what do you actually remember? We can start from there rather than just covering what you already know or skipping over something."
Milena twists a bit of ribbon around her fingers, hidden in her lap under the table. "I had come to court the year before, Marika recommended that I begin corresponding with Lord Aleksander, and I'd had one or two afternoons embroidering with Queen Adelina. There was gossip about the witcher warlord in the north, but I hadn't heard anything specific."
The group exchange glances among themselves. Melina can recognize a great deal being communicated, but she has no idea what those messages might be.
Jaskier steps forward. "The most important thing to know, then, is that witchers exist to protect people from monsters, and Geralt - also known as the White Wolf, or the Warlord of the North, although he doesn't like the latter title - is the one who pointed out that men can also become monsters who must be stopped. I was the first to come to Kaer Morhen, the stronghold of the witchers, and though I was terrified when I arrived, they bent over backward to welcome and comfort me."
"Like Lambert did this morning."
"Exactly so."
Milena pauses to reflect on that. "He's really quite sweet, isn't he?"
Jaskier and the others smile, relieved. "Oh, he's very sweet, but he tries to hide it behind grumbling and swearing. And Geralt - my beloved, now - hides his own sweetness behind a stern face and far too few words."
"Dragonfly offers to stab people for me," Livi adds.
"So does Aiden. And then he brings me bird feeders and art supplies."
"New lutes and fine clothing."
"All the fancy pens and ledgers I could want, and enough ink to make a rainbow."
The younger, pale haired girl who brought her sewing basket pushes open the door, carrying a large tray of food. "I grabbed breakfast! What did I miss?"
Jaskier hugs the girl and pulls her to the table. "We're telling Milena what adorable sweet men the witchers are. I think I stopped being terrified of your father the first time I saw you dangling off his arm."
The girl giggles and swats his arm, "Uncle Jask! I still do that!"
Milena suddenly realizes - "You're the princess." The princess, and Milena's liege lady. And Milena hadn't even recognized her!
"I'm only Princess Cirilla, heir to the Wolflands, on formal occasions. Normally I'm just Ciri, the wolf's cub."
"And a menace."
"...and that."
By the time morning practice ends and Triss has examined Milena, she's spent several hours hearing tales of the witchers' mishaps and slightly clumsy courting attempts. Also, rather embarrassingly, several implications of the witchers' more intimate skills. She may have already experienced these herself, but she doesn't remember that, and so...well. They've assured her that no one will pressure her to do anything she does not wish.
Milena holds her head high as she exits the office - which she now knows to be Livi's as much as Eskel's, and isn't it strange that a baron's daughter can hold equal rank to an emperor's Right Hand. Lambert - her Lambert, her beloved, so everyone assures her - waits outside, nearly vibrating with impatience and anxiety.
"Lambert," she greets him warmly. "I look forward to meeting you all over again. Will you walk me to lunch?"
Milena spends dinner at Lambert's side after he glares at one of his brothers to move over, then holds her chair for her while radiating eager nerves. The other Wolf - she hopes she's assumed correctly - smiles at her. "No worries. Lam told us what happened, right before sparring Geralt, so everyone'll look out for you. I'm Gweld, by the way."
A few spaces over - and Lambert was much too humble of his own position, he sits at the right hand of the emperor's Right Hand! - a pale, white-haired man hums. "Was worried for you. Glad to see you adjusting."
Milena dips her head - and it is so strange to not give an emperor any more fealty than that, but Jaskier and the others were very clear. "Having so many kind and welcoming people about makes it much easier. This morning was very different than my first at Redania's court, and far less fraught."
"Blegh. Nobles," adds the man on Lambert's other side. "Or at least, the ones who care more about rules and power than about helping each other."
Milena smiles softly and places her hand on top of Lambert's. "I quite agree."
His red ears and cheeks are quite charming, and the redhead on her other side grins suddenly as if he's learned a secret.
Milena watches the witchers pass heavy platters back and forth, and notices that Lambert serves her only the things she would have chosen for herself - when he take a slice of pie for himself without serving her, he mumbles "'s got spinach," before passing it down to Gweld.
Who grins and whispers in a not-that-quiet voice "Lam likes to fuss." He places a roll on Milena's plate as Lambert leans forward to glare and gesture at him. She doesn't recognize the sign, but several of the surrounding witchers chuckle.
Milena places a hand over the one making the gesture and tugs it down. "Be nice to your brother, he's helping."
Lambert grumbles and blushes again, but leaves his hand in hers as he begins to eat with his left hand - rather awkwardly, as though he doesn't usually use it.
Sweet man, she thinks, and picks up her own spoon in her right hand.
"So, do you have a beloved?" she asks Gweld, for lack of another topic.
"Serrit tolerates my presence," he brags, beaming. "She's the woman witcher over at the Viper table, she's terrifically deadly and very hard to please, but she hasn't stabbed me in almost twenty-five years, so I must be doing something right! I adore her."
A woman praised for being deadly. How odd - and yet, perhaps that is simply how the witchers view things.
"Will you tell me more of the different schools?" she asks, and Gweld launches into an explanation, with occasional interjections from the other Wolves. She's able to encourage her table mates to speak of themselves or their brethren for the rest of the meal, and the whole time, Lambert's hand rests warm and comforting around hers.
At the end of the meal, Lambert very slowly slides his hand from hers - she can't believe she spent so long touching a strange man, but he seemed so pleased to share her space, and would occasionally rub a thumb over her hand, and - it was very soothing. "D'you wanna...I can show you the keep? So you can find your way around, or if you want anything."
Milena rises, smiling at Lambert. "I'd like that. Sasha mentioned that you're an alchemist?"
"Yeah, I can show you the labs. Me'n Leocadie share one, they're another alchemist, one of the Manticores, and Triss has her own. Or - " He stops, blushing.
"Or?"
"I've got a spot outside, where I work on dyeing. I've been experimenting with different colors."
"I noticed all the lovely colors of thread in my sewing basket. Did you make those?"
Lambert's ears turn charmingly pink as he nods. Milena thinks it may be her new favorite color.
Lambert leads Milena around the keep, showing her where everyone works or practices or fetches their supplies. So far everyone has smiled or nodded or greeted them kindly - one of the bakers even pressed a sweet roll into her hands, despite dinner just finishing!
They've paused on the walls above the training yard so she can watch some of the witchers spar and run the intimidating training courses. Some of the warriors look more like blurs than people, and Milena realizes how difficult they would be to fight.
"Do you train every day? What if it rains? Or snows?"
Lambert stands by her side, conveniently blocking a cool wind that's sprung up. She's very warm, tucked almost against his side. "Sometimes we just melt the snow and keep going. 'S not like monsters wait for sunny days to be problems. And there's an indoor salle, if - " He stops suddenly, blushing brighter than she's seen so far.
"If what? Who uses it normally?"
Lambert coughs and almost whines. "Well. Um. I've been teaching you to spar with knives. You say it's like dancing, and sometimes we do that, too."
"Dancing with knives," Milena muses. "Will you show me?"
That was definitely a whine.
"We should. Um. Probably go. Inside?" Lambert can barely get the words out, that's fine, he's fine, Milena just wants to fucking spar with him when she doesn't even fucking remember -
Do NOT think about fucking right now, he tells himself firmly, which is about as useful as telling the trainees "don't play in the baths." You just know it's all gonna end up a mess.
He leads her back through the keep to their salle, and damn it, he can still smell the hours of joy and sweat and lust they've soaked into the walls. And the floor. And especially the benches.
Fuck shit damn, think about knives!
Oh hell, Milena with a knife -
SHE DOESN'T REMEMBER, YOU THRICE CURSED LECHEROUS IMBECILE, he yells to himself.
"Um. So. You might have some muscle memory, I dunno, but we can start simple. You just...watch my chest and try to keep the same distance from me."
"No knives yet?"
She smells almost disappointed, he can't disappoint her, crap, what does he...
"I mean. You can hold one, if you want, but mine'd be too...big..."
She pulls one out of her pocket. Of course she's just been carrying them around all day, even without remembering. It's in its sheath, so maybe she doesn't have her harness - don't think about that! - but still, she. Uh.
"Yeah," he croaks. "Like that."
They spend several minutes pacing back and forth across the salle. Milena suspects that Lambert is going rather slower and easier than strictly necessary, even for a beginner - or someone who only remembers being a beginner, she isn't entirely sure how skilled she was before whatever happened to her memories - but the longer they practice, the more comfortable the moves become.
She makes a few test jabs at him, moves that she's seen her father's men practice against each other, and isn't surprised when Lambert blocks them easily. Likely even a human warrior could block her clumsy guesses, and witchers are known for being stronger and faster than any human.
He makes a rather hesitant attack against her - clearly waiting to pull back if she doesn't block it - almost to her own surprise, she blocks it and immediately follows it with her own attack.
Which lands.
Milena freezes in shock, then drops her knife and rushes closer. "Oh no, I'm so sorry, I thought you'd block it, I didn't even realize what - are you okay, let me - " She pulls a handkerchief from her pockets and presses it firmly on his arm, trying not to panick. Her father would be so angry, and she doesn't think Lambert is anything like him, but still - !
She's tying the cloth around his arm, still fretting over the cut, when she notices how close they're standing. Her arm brushes against his chest each time she moves, and his uninjured arm hovers near her back, almost hugging her. He is - is he whining?
"Lambert?"
Gods, this is NOT FAIR. Lambert wants to know what god he pissed off to be tested like this, but with his luck, it was the whole damn pantheon.
Milena is gorgeous as she moves, and her body clearly remembers the moves even if her brain doesn't, because she doesn't miss a step the whole time they dance. And it is a dance, with her.
Then he gets cocky, and tries a feint without being prepared for a counterattack, and damn, but he wants to drop to his knees for her.
Suddenly her worry slams into him like one of Eskel's best aards, and he has to resist the urge to hug her. She's so busy fretting with the makeshift bandage she hasn't even noticed that he already stopped bleeding.
She is too fucking sweet, his darling kitten, and he will NEVER deserve her.
...still gonna do his best to keep her happy, though.
"I'm alright. Breathe, Milena. Witchers heal real fast, and you didn't cut me deep." He dares to gently, so gently, pat her back. "Look under the bandage."
She frowns, but unknots the handkerchief she'd just tied, and discovers "it's stopped bleeding! And the skin is already closing." She wipes away the last of the blood and pokes gently at his arm.
"Mm-hm." He leans down to sniff her hair, the sharp tang of worry fading into relief and roses.
She slumps against his chest. "I feel silly."
Lambert wraps both arms around her. "Don't. That you landed a hit at all was..." He trails off. How to explain how scorchingly hot it was without scaring her?
"Jaskier said witchers prize skill of all kinds. I assume sparring is included?" Her voice is sly, and Lambert wants to both curse and praise that interfering brat.
"Sparring is absolutely included. You were glorious. I could kiss you."
Milena's cheeks flush - possibly the first he's seen all day - but she lifts her chin. "I could let you."
Lambert leans down to bump his nose against hers. "Anything you want. Nothing you don't. I swear on my brothers and my swords."
"Then...teach me to kiss?"
"Always."
His lips are chapped, but infinitely gentle against hers - as gentle as the warm arms that surround her. She lets herself lean against his chest and slowly, so slowly, slide her arms around his shoulders. She never understood the other ladies of the court, who tittered about kissing young men, but now, standing here with his forehead leaned against hers and his nose nuzzled beside hers, she thinks she's starting to understand.
She's just started to trace the back of his shoulders with her nails - and noting how he shivers as she does - when someone bangs on the door. "Lambert! You know better than to put out on the first date!"
"Go kiss a bloedzuiger," Lambert snarls.
"Don't be like that, Lambykins, I brought friends!"
Milena covers her smile as the door pushes open, and a handsome man with a wide smile saunters in.
"We are not friends," says one of the two women behind him. She has the double swords and silver medallion of a witcher, and an air that she's one wrong word from attacking.
"I apologize, milady, I have terrifying she-vipers come to chaperone Milena." He drops his voice into a faux whisper. "Don't poke them, they're venomous."
The less terrifying woman casually punches him, then fixes Milena with a long look. "He done anything you don't want?" she asks.
"Lambert? Not at all. Did you think he would?"
"Better safe than sorry. World's hard to women."
"Be a shame if I needed to add him to my collection."
Whatever that means, it makes Lambert and the smiling man both cringe. "I apologize, but I don't remember you," Milena says slowly, looking between the three.
"Aiden of the Cats, best friend to that reprobate, and now the lucky, lucky man who gets to warm Sasha's bed." He sweeps into a flourishing bow, and his whole face lights up at the mention of Sasha. No wonder Sasha said his beloved was a charming man.
"Zofia of the Vipers. I've been in Kaer Morhen since shortly after they took Ard Carraigh," says the woman who punched Aiden. She's stepped close enough that Milena can make out the flowers on her tunic - bellflowers, blue daisies, and forget-me-nots. All in her own neat stitches. A sure and faithful friend.
"Serrit. Viper." Her tunic was bordered with rhododendrons and juniper. A dangerous woman, but a protective one.
"I am honored to make your acquaintance."
The group escorts them back to the great hall, where Lambert again holds Milena's chair. As he sits beside her, she asks "What does Serrit collect?"
Lambert wheezes as if punched, and several other witchers chuckle. The red-headed man on Milena's other side - Gweld, she remembers - grins and says "the pricks of men who abuse women. She preserves them in jars and keeps them on shelves in the Vipers common room. Says it's a good reminder for them." He sounds almost proud.
Milena carefully does not react. Protective and dangerous indeed.
The next morning, after a bath spent in the private pool which Livi thankfully showed her, Milena picks up her embroidery basket and asks directions of a servant. She follows them to an airy solar where several ladies sit sewing.
"Mistress Aniela, I was wondering if any of the other seamstresses in the keep know much embroidery, or if they do not, whether they would like to learn."
The Mistress of the Linens is a calm, matronly woman a bit older than Milena's own mother. "None to your level - in variety or skill - though a few of us know a bit. As to who'd like to learn - girls? Any takers?"
The other women look between each other before a few admit an interest. The room shuffles seats until Milena is left with a smaller circle of students. "Now, even the most complex pattern is made by combining simpler stitches. If you learn those, and how best to use them, then you can begin to design your own patterns. But for now, let's work on a sampler..."
Milena guides the ladies through several simple stitches, pulling projects she doesn't remember from her sewing basket to demonstrate how they can be combined into larger motifs and images.
Mistress Aniela comes over to inspect a wide piece of gorgeous blue silk. "Ooh, is that from the silk the prince brought?"
"I am afraid I don't remember, Mistress."
"Just Aniela, lass. Oh, you wouldn't, not with that memory thing."
One of the other ladies leans forward with a conspiratorial air. "I hear that Leocadie was one of the first to have it. Forgot a whole decade! They were so mad when they remembered and had ruined something down in their labs."
"At least it didn't blow up like those Cranes," another adds.
Milena's eyes wide. "Does that happen often? Explosions?"
"Not in the keep anymore, not since Julita - she's Jan's lass - was tiny. Letho put a stop to that right sharp, after she imprinted on him like a little duckling. No, these days they go out to their valley down the way, and all we do is mend their singed clothes when they get back."
"Or turn them to scraps. We've made ever so many rag quilts."
Several of the ladies laugh at that. Milena smiled, warmed to be included in their gossip - and unlike at court, none of it is cruel.
"So." Milena took a deep breath and cradled her tea cup in her hands. It was wasn't the fine glazed porcelain she'd drunk from in Redania, but instead thick, sturdy clay. Practical and utilitarian, like the people of Kaer Morhen. She assembled the pieces that her sister had just told her - after being summoned through a portal by the strongest sorceress on the continent, Milena was still amazed that such indulgences were available to her, much less willingly offered.
"Marta tried to seduce an emperor, and failing that, plotted treason with a foreign - and former - princess. I somehow captured the heart of one of the fiercest warriors on the continent, then became lady-in-waiting - the only lady-in-waiting - to that same emperor's only child and heir. You married a new king and charmed his court while our sister languishes in disowned exile, and our parents lost their position at court. Have I missed anything?"
"Your friendship with Sasha allowed him to report Redania's treachery, which resulted in its overthrow. And perhaps its salvation."
Milena groaned theatrically. "Don't remind me."
Marika smiled. "And all because you decided to chat up the Wolf's delegates at that treaty dinner."
"I refuse to believe that I single-handedly started all this."
"Well. No. But you do inspire courage, little sister, in me as well as Sasha. Otherwise neither of us might be here now. And certainly not little Eric."
Milena smiled down at the sleeping bundle in her sister's arms. "He's so sweet. It's rather odd, to realize that I'll never be a mother myself, or manage a lord's household, when that is what we prepared for our entire lives."
"You might not, but I have my hands plenty full with Temeria. I rarely even have time to sit with my own son, so I'm grateful for the chance to see you again."
"Even if Geralt tried to steal your babe from your arms?"
Marika laughed."Every time! Every time he sees little Eric, he wants to hold him! Far more than any of the noblemen we grew up with."
"Can you imagine Father holding a baby?"
"Only if forced."
Milena sighed. "It's so strange here, but so good, too. Everyone is so kind."
"I am glad of your happiness. And not just that it helped me to find my own."
"And I am glad of yours. I may not remember all that happened, but I doubt that I could have foreseen all this."
"No one could have. But alas, I should return soon to my own court, lest terrible rumors spring up."
Milena did not quite sigh, as that would be unbecoming, but she did offer, "Perhaps you can stay for supper? Geralt would be pleased to hold Eric while we eat, and I'm sure Jaskier can find a song or two to soothe him if he fusses."
"I - " The Wolf Lord's pale head was almost hidden around the corner where he had apparently been summoned by the mention of his own name together with the babe's, and Marika's eyes danced. "I suppose. If only to please my liege lord."
"Hm." Geralt lifted the bundle of wool and silk from Marika's arms and rocked gently back and forth. "Thank you. Take a xenovox back, until Milena recovers."
The sisters shared a silent, speaking glance. "You are very generous, Geralt," Marika thanked him, dipping her head as Milena had learned to do from the nobles of Kaer Morhen. "It will be a great comfort to be able to reach my sister more easily while she is inconvenienced."
The emperor grunted and then switched his attention back to the drowsy babe in his arms, clearly - if quietly - uncomfortable with praise.
Jaskier gently wrestles his way free of Geralt's embrace as supper ends and servants carry away empty platters. He smiles at his beloved and presses a kiss to his forehead, then takes up his lute. Milena still marvels over the openness of emotion shown in the court, from the highest lords - not that they claim the title - to the newest servants. The harshest word she's seen has been the cook Marlene commanding a young kitchen maid to clean up a bowl she'd dropped, and even that been only frustrated words, not curses or blows.
Jaskier strums a few notes, spinning in place as he smiles at the witchers surrounding him. "Who's for some dancing? I thought a few - "
His voice is quickly drowned out by cheering and the scrape of benches and tables being moved. Lambert looks over at her, hopeful and shy. "D'you…"
"I love to dance," she agrees. "And Jaskier assures me that you are very skilled." His blush is quite handsome, she decides as he takes her hand and leads her to the open floor.
Milena wakes slowly, head feeling fuzzy. She's sure something happened, but…where is Lambert? He -
She bolts upright. Lambert! She remembers him now! So that means - she flings the blankets back and runs to the door of their sitting room. Her beloved sleeps on a cot before the hearth, as he has been since she first lost her memories, but as she watches, he begins to rouse.
"'lena?" he mumbles. "'s early."
Gods, she loves him so much. "Lambert, I need your help." He pushes himself upright, his scarred chest shadowed in the dim light.
"Yeah? What can I - "
She sees his eyes sharpen as he breathes in her scent. She's sure it's warmer and richer than it has been the last few days, now that she remembers him. "I haven't had an orgasm in days, my love."