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Lambert stomped through the streets of Novigrad with no real goal in mind other than keeping himself occupied and warm. Although it wasn’t as far north as Kaedwen, there was still a harsh chill in the air, and moving helped to dispel it. It felt good to seem purposeful, and Lambert could almost trick himself into believing he had somewhere to go. He glared at any passers-by he encountered but for the most part kept his head down to avoid the snow as it settled in a thick sheet over the city. Unusually, the streets were fairly empty that day but Lambert supposed that was likely a good thing as it meant there were less people for him to snarl at.
Ice crunched loudly beneath Lambert’s feet as he trampled onwards grumpily, likely a frozen puddle of urine from some vagrant (not unlike what Lambert himself had become in the last few weeks), but he didn’t stop to check. He despised the cold, especially when there was no escaping it - nowhere else to go. Having to wander the streets of Novigrad all winter instead of going home to the nice, warm keep of Kaer Morhen and his brothers was a miserable experience and Lambert could safely say he’d learned his lesson.
While in Cintra on a contract hunting a particularly aggressive archespore in the autumn, Lambert had broken his leg. To say the break had been nasty would have been an understatement and Lambert had no trouble admitting he’d vomited at the sight of it. The Lord he’d been working for had been kind enough to host him until he’d healed; but after that, leg still a little weak but manageable, Lambert was on his own. By the time he’d been well enough to walk any considerable distance (his horse not having survived the archespore either) it had been too late to make the journey to Kaer Morhen - so late, in fact, that Lambert didn't even pretend to try.
He’d been tempted to slowly make his way up to Kaedwen anyway, just to be close to them, the mountains drawing him in like a moth to the flame. At least that way he could have greeted them at the base of the trail come spring, and not had to wait another year before seeing them again. But in the end, he’d decided against it. Lambert’s position wouldn’t have changed no matter what country he happened to find himself in. He’d still be homeless with practically nothing to do all winter, but in Kaedwen the cold would be immeasurably harsher - needless suffering as much as Lambert had been tempted to do it anyway.
Instead, he’d sent a letter to let them know he was alive and safe. Lambert had lied and told them he’d found somewhere to wait out the winter in Sodden, otherwise he knew his brothers would do nothing but worry all season. Knowing the truth, that Lambert had nowhere to go and was all but homeless, wouldn’t have changed a single thing. He’d journeyed to Novigrad on a whim. Living there was cheaper, both in terms of food and lodgings. There were enough people around that Lambert knew he wouldn’t stick out in a crowd, safety in numbers and all that.
When he’d arrived, he’d only only spent the first four nights at the inn (the Seven Cats, since it was the cheapest around) before he’d decided to prioritise what little coin he’d earned in the subsequent days on food and keeping his weapons in order. Finding people to employ him, or even show him a sliver of kindness had been even harder than enduring the constant chill that came with sleeping rough. The cold and the dark made people even less inclined to show charity than before, and Lambert was forced to support himself with odd roof repair jobs, a few intimidation contracts and by supplying meat to the local butchers - although that source of income had dried up almost immediately after the locals caught wind that they were being fed by a witcher, and the butcher had been given no choice but to look elsewhere for hunters.
For the most part, Lambert slept wherever he could, finding himself grateful he didn’t need as much of it as an average human. It didn’t have to be warm. As much as Lambert hated the cold, it wouldn’t kill him. Mostly, he spelt in alleyways behind discarded crates or under bridges to shelter from the snow. Originally, Lambert had tried to seduce women just so he’d have a warm bed to spend the night, but after the first two weeks once he’d used the last of his soap and shaving cream and hadn’t been able to afford a replacement, that plan had quickly met a rather miserable death.
Lambert spat on the cobblestones at his feet bitterly and glared into the window of one of the houses as he passed, their shutters broken. Feeling the momentary heat of their hearth, Lambert couldn’t help but stop to bask in it for a second, as weak as the warmth was. Glaring in, Lambert spied a family gathered around the fire, three children, their mother, and their father who was balanced on a pair of crutches. They didn’t have much, barely more than Lambert himself by the looks of things, but they’d somehow still managed to provide presents for their kids, deep red wrapping paper littered at their feet. Lambert’s stomach rumbled as he caught the scent of whatever they were cooking.
He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the sight, for the children and the childhood Lambert never got to have, and for the fact that his own brothers were so far away from him. Idly, he thought it must have been Christmas day, but that made little difference to the witcher. Lambert liked to imagine his family was happy in the keep, perhaps exchanging a few gifts of their own. Perhaps it was best he wasn’t with them this year - he was a grumpy fucker at the best of times, Lambert could admit that freely.
Deciding not to torture himself any longer, Lambert trudged onwards up the street, ice and snow crunching and cracking beneath his boots. At the end of the road he could make out the Rosemary and Thyme standing like a beacon on the street corner. Music and bright lights streamed out, the sounds of merry-making within. Lambert had been inside a handful of times before, always in the company of Geralt, but wasn’t sure he’d be welcome alone. He knew that if he concentrated hard enough, he’d be able to pick up Jaskier’s scent in the crowd and wondered why the fuck Geralt hadn’t invited him up to Kaer Morhen yet.
For a moment Lambert thought about venturing inside. It was warm and no doubt Jaskier would be kind enough to give him a hot meal. But Lambert knew he looked like shit, as if he’d been living in a cave all winter, and suspected his haggard appearance would be bad for business. The last thing he wanted to do was inconvenience Jaskier for his troubles. He wasn’t even sure if the bard liked him enough to help him, now that Lambert came to think about it. What if he’d only been polite to appease Geralt?
Lambert’s mind was made up. He continued on with his stomping, clear past the inn and back towards the centre of the city. Bawdy drinking songs filled his ears but he tried not to listen, lest it worsen the loneliness sinking in Lambert’s gut. To stop his self-pitying train of thought, Lambert reminded himself that this hardship was only for a season. Next time, he’d make sure he arrived in time for the first snows. That didn’t make his current situation any less shit, though.
“Lambert!” A voice called out loudly from behind him. Jaskier’s voice was distinctive and Lambert would have been able to recognise it anywhere. Surprised, Lambert turned. Jaskier wore no winter jacket, evidently having seen Lambert from the window and ran to keep up with him. ‘How did he even recognise me?’ He wondered.
As Jaskier took in his appearance, his smile turned tight. Lambert knew he looked like shit. He just hoped Jaskier wouldn’t inconvenience himself out of pity.
“Why don’t you come inside?” Jaskier asked, taking several steps until he was standing close to the witcher, seemingly not the least put off by his haggard, somewhat grumpy face.
“And scare off all your adoring fans?” Lambert tried to play it off as a joke, not wanting to acknowledge the situation. “No, I’m not that cruel… but thanks.” He added as an afterthought.
“Oh come now…” Jaskier persisted. “They’re used to my witcher songs, afterall! I’m sure even in your current state, they’d find your presence thrilling. And if they have a problem with it, I’ll just throw them out - I’m the owner after all.” Jaskier’s smile was bright and Lambert desperately wanted to trust it. But at the same time, Lambert’s stomach turned at the idea of being a burden on the bard.
“I don’t want to impose.” Was his only protest, not being able to come up with a single good excuse. To escape from the kindness, Lambert turned and made to walk off again, but Jaskier took him by the arm with a surprising firmness.
“I insist. You’re family after all and I’m not about to leave you out in the cold. Quite frankly, I’m offended you didn’t come to me the moment you set foot in Novigrad!”
Lambert could do nothing but blink for several long moments, staring at the bard blankly. ‘...Family?’ The word rattled around in Lambert’s brain. Lambert knew he had one, but up until that point he’d thought it only encompassed his brothers (and regrettably, Vesemir) other monsters witchers from his school. He couldn’t even think of the last time he’d been considered so by a human.
Jaskier took advantage of Lambert’s momentary shock to tug him gently back towards the Rosemary and Thyme. Not knowing what else to do, Lambert went with him.
“Let’s get you in the warm… and give you a
bath
, God's Lambert… it’s settled - you can use my grooming kit.”